


Risk vs Reward

by Armengard



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Flirting, F/F, Muscles, Post-Game(s), Pre-Relationship, Shameless Smut, Text messaging, Uncharted: The Lost Legacy - Freeform, and pining, dirty pics, so much thirst, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armengard/pseuds/Armengard
Summary: Nadine Ross and Chloe Frazer fall into the habit of texting each other whenever they're apart, which is a perfectly normal thing to do. Friends text. Business partners correspond.So when Nadine accidentally receives a photo from Chloe that isdefinitelynot meant for her, she doesn't look too much into it.(yeah she does)





	1. Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Риск vs выгода](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379969) by [Anya_Sfinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anya_Sfinks/pseuds/Anya_Sfinks)



When it comes to text messaging, Nadine Ross is somewhat new.

Not that she doesn’t know how to text, or hasn’t ever. She does, and has. But not flagrantly. Not _just because_. There’s always been a reason. Even when she thinks hard about it, she can’t recall the last time she texted with someone simply for the fun of it. Virtually everything done on her cellphone has, in the past, been restricted to business purposes for Shoreline, back when she was in charge; setting up meetings with clients, finalizing contracts, scheduling jobs for her men, making sure weapons and gear were stocked and ready, funneling payments and deposits to multiple accounts, etc. In her entire contact list, less than five are put in by name and not number. Two of them are her mother and father.

In the line of work and other similar ventures, Nadine has found she’s more of a radio sort of woman. Radio chatter is easy. _Over and out_ , to end a conversation. _Report_ , to get necessary information. _Flank them_ , or _moving into position_ , during fire-fights. It’s simple. Clear. She likes efficiency, and cellphones offer too many distractions to keep a cool head, especially out there in the field, where something as small as an ill-timed cellphone chirp can get you killed.

Shoreline’s gone, now. Nadine misses it, but not as much as she thought she might. It still hurts to think about, though, so she doesn’t. It helps that her mind is very preoccupied these days.

Texting is not like radio chatter. For Nadine, it’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t even text with her mother. Instead, Nadine calls her, every Saturday, 9AM Johannesburg time, even if it’s past midnight wherever she is just then—a rotten, stinking crypt, or a hot, dewy jungle—so long as she can get cell reception. Once connected, she always makes sure to speak to her mother for at least half an hour. Mostly, she just lets her mother talk about whatever she likes. Occasionally, Nadine will supply a humorous story from a recent venture, of which her new treasure-hunting partner is almost always the star. Hearing her mother laugh never fails to make her smile. The older she grows, the farther it gets from the day her father passed on—three years, seven months and counting—the more she’s come to covet it.

She knows her mother appreciates whatever time they manage to cobble together, especially since it’s only the two of them now, so she makes the effort. She visits when she can as well, a diligence made easier by the fact that she also lives in Johannesburg, taking trips between her own apartment in the city and her mother’s house on the outskirts. She finds she very much prefers an in-person conversation to one over the phone. She’s never been good on a line. She lacks an ease to her words, a natural flow. She’s too brisk, too stiff. Still, she figures it can’t be the worst habit to have. Some people prefer to talk. Nadine prefers to listen.

And then there's Chloe Frazer, who comes stumbling headfirst into Nadine’s rigidly strict, almost militaristic life with her lopsided smile, cheap wit, and laughable professionalism. Before Nadine knows it, they're partners, quick as that.

Nowadays, in exchange for stilted text messages of number sums and status reports, Nadine gets smiley faces and grammatical errors. Nadine can’t decide if it’s an upgrade or not. Truthfully, she wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter—once they started working together, after India and the months beyond, she and her new business partner inevitably swapped cellphone numbers, and ever since, Nadine has found herself haplessly subjected to an almost daily inundation of run-on sentences and emojis of dubious connotation.

Whenever they’re apart for any amount of time—on solo day trips or during breaks to visit their respective mothers, friends, or to simply hunker down in their own apartments, jumping throughout Australia, London and South Africa like a game of musical chairs—Chloe will text Nadine about the most random subjects all throughout the day (and night, thanks to the sometimes painful time differences). She’ll ask questions about animals, or tell Nadine about her morning, or even just what she ate for lunch. Lately, she’s been asking Nadine how to say things in Afrikaans, starting, of course, with their most colorful curse words, then moving on to everyday objects. She claims she wants to know enough to get by when she visits someday, since she’s never been. Nadine has gone along without protest. Pronunciation needs to be worked on in person, so she makes sure to send Chloe a batch of simple vocabulary words to study when they’re apart, and drills her on them whenever they meet up for their next job.

It’s nice, the texting. Nadine’s surprised. She doesn’t have many close friends, and certainly none she feels comfortable enough to chat inanely with. Chloe is a perfect audience. She’s a natural at keeping the conversation alive. A single word from Nadine will avalanche Chloe into a stream-of-consciousness text-barrage ranging from a twenty-year-old children’s television show to the cultural significance of the latest historical find published by Oxford, Harvard or some other reputed university.

Then there’s the pictures—naturally, it starts with animals.

Though she isn’t exactly blatant about it, Nadine has never tried to hide her minor obsession with the members of the animal kingdom. It’s no secret she likes little furry creatures—not that she doesn’t like big ones, too, or scaled ones, or feathered ones. She likes them all, really. Chloe thinks it’s the greatest thing ever, her encyclopedic knowledge of all those great and small, and Nadine hasn’t had the heart to tell her to stop talking about it, and as a result, her partner has developed a habit of snapping pictures of any nearby animals with her cellphone and sending them to Nadine for comment, the only surefire way to get a response from her usually taciturn partner. Most of the time, Nadine is happy to oblige.

One day, it’ll be a sleepy koala bear, clawed hands clutching tight to a spindly eucalyptus branch. _Went to the wildlife refuge with mum!_ Chloe adds below, followed by a picture of her and her mother, pointing excitedly at the little koala, who hasn’t stirred in the least (Chloe’s gotten much better with her spelling and grammar ever since Nadine commented on how it irked her to read through the mess—probably, she thinks proper punctuation will have more of a chance to get Nadine to respond. It does).

_Koalas sleep up to 22 hours a day, since it’s so hard for them to digest their food_ , Nadine writes back. _Let him rest._

Another time, it’s a selfie with a fearsome-looking kookaburra, it’s wedge-like beak pointed threateningly at Chloe’s head from its perch atop a dilapidated storefront. _He chased me across the street!_ Chloe whines, her face adopting an expression of mock-terror, and Nadine actually laughs aloud.

_Watch out,_ she warns. _Kookaburras eat poisonous snakes bigger than their own bodies_.

Then there’s one of an adult red kangaroo at a distance, propped upright on its thick, muscular tail, sharply-tipped paws and thick forelimbs hanging at its sides, looking as though it’s frowning disapprovingly at Chloe over her shoulder, where she’s pulled over on the side of the road in her jeep to snap the pic, probably causing a snag in traffic as a result. _Look at the size of this bloke!_

_Kangaroos can cover 25 feet in a single leap, and jump six feet high_ , Nadine supplies.

London pictures are predictably more domestic but no less satisfying. Cats and dogs of all shapes, colors and sizes. Stubby-legged Welsh Corgis, slinking tabbies, grinning Labradors. Nadine appreciates them just as much as the exotic ones.

Then Chloe begins to send pictures of the scenery as well—hokey tourist spots, and the wide grey stretch of the Thames, and panoramic shots from the London Eye. The city seems beautiful, and Nadine appreciates Chloe sharing it with her. She likes to know that Chloe is thinking of her, though she isn’t entirely sure why that should matter. It’s just… nice, somehow.

As a sort of repayment, she falls into the habit of sending her own pictures back. Johannesburg has dogs of all kinds, though most are flea-bitten strays, and cats at every corner, some mean and wary, others sweet and affectionate. At her mother’s, she sends Chloe pictures of the rangy chickens her mother keeps for eggs, and the neighbor’s few cows and pigs. She also takes pictures of old city buildings and cramped, dusty museums and crowds of random people milling about. When she’s feeling charitable, she’ll send Chloe a selfie, though she dislikes taking them, feeling vaguely stupid, pointing the camera back at herself, despite Chloe’s rampant praise once it’s sent.

Six months ago, if someone had come up to Nadine and told her she would learn to enjoy playing on her phone, spending several hours a day talking about nothing at all and trading photos of distant lands and adorable animals with a woman she’d risk her life for and who’d risk hers in return, she’d have called them a liar.

 

—

 

At the moment, Chloe is visiting her mother in Australia, and Nadine is home, at her apartment, smack in the heart of Johannesburg. She’s planning to drive out to her mother’s tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, and spend some time with her. She and Chloe have just finished a job in Peru, a beautiful place with enough ruins to make Chloe salivate, and so many llamas and alpacas it'd made Nadine’s head spin in a good way. The job had involved a lot of dirty tomb-raiding, far less of a payoff than they’d anticipated, and thankfully no Drakes. Still, it was their eighth venture since India in six months, and Nadine was burnt, Chloe winded and flagging, and though they’d both wanted to keep up their near-hectic momentum, they’d ultimately decided to take a short but well-earned vacation, and eked out three weeks into their busy schedules for an indulgent but very much deserved break.

Two weeks in, Nadine is feeling a bit more like herself. She isn’t tired all the time anymore, running on fumes. Now, she wakes up at 5AM every morning and goes for a four-mile run. When she gets back, she eats a hardy breakfast, then spends a few hours with weight sets and barbell in her back room, the clang of metal on metal and the smell of old, musty sweat an odd comfort in her newfound routine. She feels good. Strong. Stronger than before.

Afternoons are typically spent reading or researching idle topics. Animals, mostly. Sometimes, she’ll watch television, or an old movie, and let her mind drift. If she’s up for it, she’ll exercise again in the late afternoon, sleep well for much of the night, and wake again in the morning to begin the cycle anew. By now, it’s rote. Nadine is good at rote.

She does miss Chloe. Barely three days into her vacation, she noticed a small, lonely pang in her chest when she thought of her, and then felt silly, for how fast it’d come. She's never been the codependent type. She tries not to think much of it, but it’s hard.

She hasn’t told Chloe, yet, either—that she misses her. She isn’t sure if she will or not. She wants to ask Chloe if she misses Nadine, too, but won’t. To ask is a risk. Nadine does not do risks.

Chloe has already pestered her three times today, asking what she’s up to. Nadine always answers when Chloe texts her unless she’s busy, or sleeping, which is inevitable with the large time difference between them at the moment—almost nine hours, with Chloe ahead and Nadine behind. When Chloe rises in the morning, Nadine is going to bed. Chloe would never let something so trivial as a couple separate time zones stop her, and texts Nadine at every fleeting second without concern. Nadine has sometimes woken in the early hours to a buzzing phone and an impatient partner looking to be entertained. It’s not the worst way to start the day, Nadine figures. She could be getting shot at, after all.

This morning, Nadine’s sent a picture of her breakfast— _mieliepap_ alongside a steaming cup of _rooibos_ tea—and another of herself from the shoulders up, earbuds in, thick hair scraped back into a frizzed ponytail, beads of sweat rolling down her face and neck after a heart-bursting sprint in the South African heat.

In reply, Chloe sends hearts. Five of them, which seems excessive, though Nadine is not the expert here. But it’s cute, and, if she’s being honest, flattering. Growing up, she had no close female friends, and sometimes she wonders if it’s normal for Chloe to dote on her as much as she does, showering flirty and sometimes borderline-obscene compliments without an ounce of shame. Probably, it's just the sort of person Chloe is—someone so recklessly honest she can’t help herself.

Sometimes, however, she can't help but wonder if it means more. This, also, is something she will never ask Chloe, as it is an even bigger risk than the first. She also doesn’t yet know which answer she is hoping for; yes, or no. Both seem equally intimidating.

By mid-afternoon, Nadine is feeling her morning run and the two hours with weights afterward a bit more than usual, and, pleasantly sore and aching, is contemplating a nap. She’s not much of a ‘nap’ person, but Chloe swears by them, so Nadine decides to give it a try. She’s just made herself comfortable on the couch, yawning widely, one forearm folded behind her head as a makeshift pillow, when her phone buzzes. It’s Chloe, since it can’t be anyone else, though Nadine does some quick mental math and figures it’s about midnight in Australia, and wonders what’s kept Chloe up so late. Usually her partner cannot wait to curl up in a hastily-unpacked bedroll, or huddle down in the backseat of a rented jeep for the night, and is notoriously hard to rouse in the mornings no matter how many hours of rest she may get.

Drowsily, she swipes at her screen. Chloe’s texts are jumbled, out of order and riddled through with misspellings, and still coming strong. From the looks of it, she’s enjoying a rowdy night out with some friends of the family, and has decided to drunk-text Nadine a step-by-step account of the festivities. A thoughtful notion, if Nadine hadn’t been looking for some peace and quiet.

She sets to work attempting to decipher the first few sentences, but makes little progress. A minute later, the first picture arrives. It’s a dog—an Australian Shepherd, a light blue kerchief tied fashionably around his neck to match his eyes. His tongue is hanging out of the side of his mouth, one ear perked straight up and the other folded down, giving him a cute, lopsided affect that Nadine immediately favors. Naturally, the next five pictures are of Chloe and said dog, Chloe making exaggerated faces at the camera with her other arm crooked over the dog’s shoulders like an old friend, her eyes dazed with alcohol but still alight with her usual charm. Blinking heavily, Nadine smiles, and then yawns again. She falls asleep with her phone still buzzing.

Some time later, she rouses, and groggily lifts her wrist to check her watch. She’s been out for almost two hours. Her mouth is dry, throat raspy, and her body feels twice its normal weight. Immediately she dislikes the sensation and resolves never to nap again, despite Chloe’s fervent recommendations. Automatically, she checks her phone. 16 unread messages. All of them are pictures. Chloe’s night has apparently devolved from where Nadine left off, and most of the following snapshots are blurry depictions of the floor and random, half-focused objects in the room. Probably, Chloe wasn’t aware her phone was still on by this point, and was unwittingly snapping pictures as she tottered drunkenly about, then sent them all as a group to Nadine without looking, before hopefully finding a safe place to pass out for the rest of the night.

Head still foggy with sleep, Nadine scrolls through the pictures idly, squinting every so often to try and decipher exactly what or who she’s looking at. She thinks one might be of Chloe’s mother, but isn’t sure. Another looks like a chair, or a barstool. Then there’s one of a pair of feet, the left booted, the right bare, with red-painted toenails, which she guesses is Chloe’s.

Then she reaches the next picture, and is bolted wide-awake. Her breath snags in her throat and her eyes open wide. She’d gasp if her lungs were working properly. They are not.

This picture is decidedly not a cute, furry animal, nor a blurred-out smudge. It is very clearly a picture that did not get taken last night, and it also, in all likelihood, was not meant for Nadine at all.

It’s a picture of Chloe, taken by herself, as usual, only she’s laying in bed and is wearing less clothes than Nadine has ever seen her in—or, not in. She isn’t wearing normal undergarments, either, but a black, lacy bra that only covers about half her breasts, and a pair of panties that are so sheer they are practically opaque. The sides of them are mere strings, the taut threads stretched tenuously across full hips. She’s posed on her back, spine arched dramatically like a pulled bow, as if her skin is too sensitive for the rumpled sheets beneath her, the phone camera held aloft to capture her form from head to mid-thighs. Her free hand is cupped encouragingly under one of her breasts, fingers curled up and around the half-cup of the bra, red-painted nails tugging playfully at the fabric so a peek of her dusky pink nipple is barely visible. Her hair is mussed. The look on her face—which, Nadine notices at once, appears a bit younger than Chloe is now, making this picture perhaps a few years old—is pure sex. Her eyes are low-lidded and sultry, her red bottom lip caught under the straight white line of her teeth. She’s looking directly into the camera, as if to say, _Get over here. Now_.

Nadine stares at the picture. And stares. And stares.

After about thirty seconds, the numb, stunned feeling trickles away, and suddenly she finds herself unspeakably aroused. Blood rushes to her head in a surge, and a wave of dizziness strikes her soundly at the temples. It feels like she’s been punched. Then a warm shiver quakes slowly through her. Her sleepy pulse, only moments ago lulled into a drubbing, lazy beat, is now racing. Between her legs, she aches fiercely. There is an abrupt but profound urge to not only touch herself, but to do so while looking at the picture.

Of Chloe.

Her partner.

Her friend.

She sits up with a harsh intake of breath and deliberately puts her phone face down on the couch. Guilt knocks her hard and fast in the stomach, and the warmth in her limbs curdles into something like dread, and shame. This photo is something she should not be looking at. Clearly it wasn’t meant for her, and Chloe sent it by accident. It depicts Chloe at her most vulnerable, her most private, and Nadine, though unwittingly, has just invaded that privacy. Already, she finds to her chagrin, she wants to invade it again.

She should delete it. She picks her phone back up to do just that, turns it on, and freezes as the picture once again fills her screen. Her eyes flit rapidly across the photo, picking up the tiniest of details—the subtle dimple of Chloe’s bellybutton, the sharp jut of her ribs, the messy fan of her hair across the sheets, the blush of her erect nipple, the sheer material of the lingerie, the barely visible dark triangle of pubic hair between her warm-looking thighs, the faint silver lines of faded stretch marks at her hips.

She slaps her phone back down, jittery with a mixture of angry embarrassment and helpless arousal. Chloe sent the picture less than two hours ago. She has to be asleep. Unless she wants to rudely wake her, Nadine will have to wait at least another six hours before Chloe realizes what’s happened. Or will she wake up and simply fail to notice, and it’ll be up to Nadine to tell her? The notion is close to horrifying. She wishes she could just turn her phone off and forget this ever happened.

But she won’t—forget, that is. The image has been seared into her brain and even now, all she has to do is close her eyes and see it there. Chloe is a terrible flirt and an unrelenting tease, yes, especially when Nadine is involved, but this picture is another creature entirely. Nadine has never actively imagined what her partner looks like naked. Now she cannot stop thinking about it.

She stands and paces her living room, hands balled into fists, a knot of anxiety building in her stomach. Should she try to reach Chloe, make her aware of her blunder? No, probably Chloe is out for a good while, sleeping off the liquor. Even if she were awake, what would Nadine possibly say? _Sorry?_ Or, even worse, _Thank you?_

She ends up texting nothing at all, and tries valiantly not to think about it.

_It’ll be fine_ , Nadine tells herself, fifteen minutes later, when she is still thinking about it. _The both of you will laugh about this one day._

Except now she’s worried how Chloe actually will react once she finds out. If she knows her partner—and she believes she does—Chloe will most likely brush it off, probably with a string of laughing emojis, or an apt _LOL_ , but still, there is a very small chance it won’t be so simple. What if the picture was meant for someone special in Chloe’s life, and her partner will feel violated somehow, knowing Nadine’s seen it? What if it turns things awkward between them? They’ve been working so well together. Nadine likes Chloe, trusts her implicitly. She hopes Chloe feels the same, though she must, based on their current business record—over six months and holding strong, which is supposedly longer than any other professional partnership Chloe’s ever been in. That has to stand for something. Doesn’t it?

There is a sudden, intrusive thought.

What if Chloe was texting someone else last night as well? And what if the picture was meant for them, and Nadine was ineptly caught in the crosshairs? It’s plausible. Nadine has never outright asked Chloe if she’s single, since it’s not her business, and she doesn’t like to stick her nose where it doesn't belong. Chloe is a beautiful woman. It would surprise Nadine very much if she were not involved with someone at the moment.

So, that’s it then.

Rather than feel relieved, however, she feels worse. The ball in her stomach begins to fester and burn, creeping its way into her chest and up her throat until she’s miserable with it. She tells herself it isn’t jealousy.

An hour later, she realizes she still hasn’t deleted the picture. Finally, after several failed attempts, she swipes, and then hits the tiny trashcan icon, and the picture disappears. In a distant part of her brain, she acknowledges that the picture is still not entirely deleted. Instead, it will sit in her phone’s trashcan for thirty days before being automatically tossed for good, unless she goes in there and deletes it a second time, right now.

She doesn’t. She isn’t sure why.

By 11PM Johannesburg time, there is still no word from Chloe. The nap has addled Nadine’s sleep schedule, and she struggles to close her eyes and silence her brain. Her thoughts race. Has Chloe failed to contact her because she’s realized her error and is now too embarrassed to say anything? No, no, that doesn’t sound anything like Chloe. Maybe she’s lost her phone during her wild night out, and someone snatched it and sent the picture as a joke to everyone in Chloe’s contact list. She’d pound someone if they ever—

Miraculously, she falls into a fitful doze, and the next time she opens her eyes, it’s 6AM. She’s slept through her alarm clock. Clutched in her left hand is her cellphone, buzzing furiously. Chloe is calling.

A blast of alarm ices through her veins. Nadine nearly defers answering, then swallows hard, and hits accept.

“Ja.”

“My god, china,” Chloe groans across the line, static buzzing at the edges of her smoky accent. “Don’t let me drink like that again. My head feels like an elephant sat on it. No. A bunch of elephants. Say, what’s a bunch of elephants called? A herd, right?”

Caught off guard, Nadine replies automatically, “Ja, a herd, mostly. But they can be called a parade, or a memory.”

"A memory of elephants?” Chloe murmurs, sounding pleased. “Ooh. I like that one. ‘It feels like a memory of elephants broke into my room and sat on my head.’ Ha! Now, how do you say, ‘I have a hangover’ in Afrikaans?”

Nadine thinks, translates, “ _Ek het ‘n kater_.”

" _Ek het ‘n… kater_ ,” repeats Chloe, doing her best to match Nadine’s pronunciation.

“ _Jammer_ ,” sympathizes Nadine.

“ _Dankie_ , china. You’ve got to listen to my night. I swear, I’m getting too old for this. So we all got in the cab, right…”

Chloe prattles on for about ten minutes with Nadine making the occasional grunt before she can’t take it anymore.

“Listen,” she says quickly, cutting in as Chloe groans for the sixth time about how bad her hangover is, “don’t worry about what you sent me. I deleted it right away.” _An hour later. And only halfway deleted besides_. “I’m sure it was an accident, anyways.”

The line is quiet for a moment. Nadine sweats. Sounding only slightly less hung over, Chloe asks, “Wait, the what?”

"The picture.”

“What picture? I sent you a lot of pictures last night, if memory serves. Which it doesn’t. Elephants, love.”

Nadine huffs and rolls her eyes, despite Chloe not being able to see her. She absolutely refuses to put this into words. “Look. Just… check your texts sometime, alright? I—”

It’s quiet again, and suddenly Nadine realizes it’s very likely Chloe is checking her phone _right now_ , with her still on the line. Before she can tell Chloe to wait, or try to explain, Chloe makes a soft choking sound and then erupts into sharp, hysterical laughter. Nadine feels her face and neck flush hotly, mortified, yet simultaneously relieved. Of course Chloe would find it funny. She’s Chloe. The joke is on Nadine here, isn’t it? It always is. Chloe Frazer hasn’t an ounce of shame in her entire body, so why should she suddenly develop some now? This is just more ammunition to tease and heckle Nadine with. Which isn’t a pleasant thought, but not the absolute worst. Now Nadine feels slightly silly for taking it so seriously, for worrying so much about it.

“ _Wow_ ,” says Chloe. “I must have been _beyond_ wasted _._ Jesus.” She laughs again, groans, then says, “And that’s not even a _good_ one!”

“ _Eish_ ,” Nadine winces. Her head and neck radiate heat. It’s an unpleasant feeling, so she kicks her covers off and sits on the side of her bed, elbows on her knees.

“Oh, you must have _died_ , seeing that,” muses Chloe. “Why didn’t you text me back, let me know?”

“You know why, Frazer.”

“Still, though. God, that’s _hilarious_.”

“Hmm,” Nadine agrees, trying to ignore the nagging feeling from before. That maybe the picture was for someone else, and Chloe was too drunk to tell the difference. Before she can stop herself, it worms its way free, and she blurts, “I’m sure whoever you were trying to send that to was very disappointed they didn’t get what they’d asked for.”

“Other than the Uber driver, you were only one I texted last night,” Chloe says lightly, sounding quite unconcerned. “So yes, I’m sure he was very sorry about that. How did I even _send_ that, it’s not even in the same folder…” She fades into indistinct muttering, then adds, “Plus, I don’t take pictures like that for anyone.”

“Then… Then who’s it for?” Nadine asks, confused.

Chloe laughs in disbelief. “What, you don’t keep dirty selfies to look at on an off day and feel better about yourself? …On second thought, don’t answer that, of course you don’t. Stupid question.”

Nadine flushes self-consciously. As Chloe’s guessed, she’s never even entertained the thought of doing sometime like that. She tries to imagine it, posing seductively, half-undressed, while staring up into a glowing cellphone screen, then looking at the photo afterwards… No. That’s definitely not something she’d ever do. “Right. Sorry we’re not all as free as you.”

“Not about being free, Ross, just loving yourself. If I had your body, my god, my phone would be so full—”

“Alright,” Nadine interrupts, so she’ll stop. _If I had your body_ , repeats itself in her mind, and a warm thrill erupts in her chest. She digs the fingers of her free hand into her palm until it hurts to try and make it stop.

“Anyways,” says Chloe, who thankfully drops that train of thought. “What did you think?”

“About what?”

“I’ve got good tits, don’t I?”

“I’m hanging up,” Nadine deadpans, and Chloe snorts, not offended in the least.

“It was an honest mistake, china, I swear. You want me to apologize?” She clears her throat theatrically, then begins, in an overly serious tone, “Nadine Ross, I, Chloe Frazer, am very sorry—er, _jammer_ —for sending you a dirty selfie. Allegedly.”

"Allegedly? It’s _in my phone_ —”

“Oh?” _Eish_ , she can _hear_ the smirk in Chloe’s voice. It’s infuriating. “I thought you deleted it.”

“I did!” Nadine insists. Chloe chuckles, and Nadine realizes she’s fallen for one of Chloe’s traps again. It should be easy to get angry now, to yell at Chloe or to just hang up, but she finds herself beginning to laugh with her. This entire situation is just so… so _stupid_ , so utterly ridiculous, she can’t believe it. Soon they’re both giggling over the line so hard Nadine has to wipe tears from her eyes. “You’re such a dickhead,” she says.

“Dickhead with a hangover,” replies Chloe. “I’m going back to bed. Think I’m gonna stay there this time. What are you up to today?”

Nadine checks her watch again. If she wants to keep to her newfound routine, she’ll need to scramble, but she’s already feeling off, like someone’s knocked a foot out from under her. Today probably can’t be salvaged. “I was thinking of visiting my mother, but maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Someone ruined my night and I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Oh, please, that picture would’ve _made_ your night!”

“Certainly have a high opinion of yourself, Frazer.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” says Chloe, back to teasing. “I’m gonna crawl into bed now and look at all the dirty pictures I have of myself. So you can go ahead and be jealous.”

“Right. Later, then,” says Nadine, glad they’ve gotten this all sorted, or sorted as it can be.

“ _Geniet die dag_ , Nadine,” Chloe replies, the playful note gone from her voice, replaced with a gentle warmth. Nadine hangs up, and sits there for a minute or two, just to get back to herself. Then she stands and readies herself for her run, changing her clothes and filling the kettle for a late breakfast tea, all the while trying not to think about how much she likes it when Chloe says her name—even just the _way_ she says it strikes her, not so much a nasal, drawn out, _Nay-deen_ , but more of a quick, breathy, _Nuh-deen_.

She shortens her run by sprinting to make up time, and gets to her weights at about her usual schedule. The tangled anxiety from the evening before is gone, and the rest of her day passes by with ease. She calls her mother after supper, and tells her to expect company the next day. Her mother promises her favorite meal, _boerewors_ and _chakalaka_ , good traditional South African food Nadine has been too long without, though any food cooked by her mother is more delicious than anything else she’s ever had.

Around 10PM, she’s brushing her teeth when she hears a faint buzz. She finishes up and walks to her bedroom. On the nightstand, her cellphone is aglow with a new message. It’s Chloe, sending her usual evening photos.

Tonight’s pictures are of a plump black and brown tabby with a pink collar, eyes closed in ecstasy, it little head leaning hard into Chloe’s knuckles, digging just behind its flattened ears, and another of it in mid-meow, whiskers bristling, displaying sharp, needle-like teeth and a bubblegum-pink tongue. Its eyes are golden yellow and keenly intelligent.

_Neighbor’s cat_ , says the text below. _Her name’s Polly_.

_Cute_ , Nadine sends back, automatically saving both. Her phone's data storage has grown alarmingly full since Chloe’s gotten her number. Then again, what else can she fill up her phone with? Sexy pictures of herself? Right.

She’s gotten into bed and laid her head on the pillow when her phone buzzes once more. She reaches for it and blinks in the dark at the tiny screen, knowing Chloe is aware of the time difference, that she must realize Nadine is preparing for bed right now. Is something wrong? Maybe she just wants to say goodnight.

_Disappointed, china?_

Nadine frowns. She texts back a simple, _???_

The bubble appears that means Chloe’s typing. Nadine waits patiently.

_I can send you another dirty pic if you really want one._

_Eish_. Nadine stiffens, and feels that hot flush ripple through her, and wishes she could sink through her bed and into the floor to get away from the clammy, squirming feeling in her chest. Now she’s thinking of the picture again, the fact that she’s deleted it, but not entirely, because if she taps over into the trashcan, she’ll see it there, waiting. Waiting for what?

Her thumbs hover over her phone screen, unsure of how to reply. Luckily, she doesn’t have to.

_Don’t worry, just teasing_ , Chloe sends, and Nadine lets out a slow breath of relief. Then, _If you want another one, you’ll have to ask for it._

“ _Fokken_ hell,” Nadine grits out under her breath, acutely aware that her blood pressure is beginning to climb. She will never fall asleep now.

It occurs to her there are three obvious ways she can steer this conversation. She can shut it down firmly, and tell Chloe to stop. She can also bid her a polite goodnight, and then try to get some rest. Or she can buck up, play along, and see what happens next.

It is, at its most basic, a risk versus reward situation.

Two weeks ago, Nadine would have outright refused to humor Chloe, and bid her a stern goodnight. But two-weeks-ago Nadine has not seen the photo from last night, has not had the spark of something come alive within her like Nadine-now has. The spark is an idea. A what-if. A maybe. Nadine knows when it’s time to cut losses, and when to keep fighting. When to leave the battlefield, and when to jump on the train, and finish things.

And so, feeling only a little bold and mostly foolish, Nadine goes with the last of her three options.

_Funny, Frazer,_ she texts. _You drunk again?_

_Sober as a nun in church. Scout’s honor._

_Guess you’re just in a good mood then._

_Course, always am when I’m talking to you, love :)_

Nadine pauses. She doesn’t know how to flirt like Chloe does, but perhaps it’s because she’s never tried. She thinks for a bit. _You know how to make a girl feel special._

_You are special,_ is Chloe’s immediate reply.

That niggling worm of jealousy returns. Despite herself, Nadine writes, _Sure you wouldn’t rather send someone else some special pictures?_

Chloe sends a laughing emoji. _Like who?_

Nadine has no idea. _Drake?_ she tries.

_EWW_ , comes back at once. Then, hilariously, an ill-looking green-faced emoji. _Don’t even joke about that. Nate’s married, and Sam’s… Sam_.

_Sully?_ she tries next.

_Stop it! That’s just so wrong!_

Nadine chuckles softly to herself, pleased she’s been able to rile her partner a bit. It’s sort of nice to turn the tables, once in a while. Her phone is quiet now, so she prepares for another attempt at sleep, trying not to feel disappointed that it’s over, but is stopped by yet another buzz.

_What are you wearing?_

This time, Nadine laughs aloud, incredulous. Clearly, Chloe’s trying her best to embarrass her again, but Nadine will be damned if she lets her have it so easily this time.

_Voetsek, pielkop!_

_Pretty sure we didn’t cover those words in the vocab, Ross_ , writes Chloe. _A little help, maybe?_

It says, _get lost, dickhead_ , but Nadine’s not going to tell her that. _How about this one_ , she texts. _Fokkoff!_

_Ah! I know what that one means!_

_I’m sure you do. Quit messing with me, it’s late._

_Not messing with you. I honestly want to know what the big bad Don’t-Cross- Ross goes to sleep in._

Nadine sighs, gives in. What will it hurt? _Old shirt_ , she texts back. _Shorts_.

_Sexy_ , Chloe replies.

_Fokkoff_ , Nadine sends again.

_Just being honest._

_Too much muscle_ , Nadine concludes, only partially joking. While she likes that she’s strong and can handle herself, and works hard to keep herself that way, there will always been a very small part of her that is still insecure about her appearance, and how others view her. It’s something she’s worked on since she was a young girl, getting picked on in the schoolyard for being short and skinny. Her father taught her how to fight once he heard about it, and then she’d had a growth spurt, and the teasing had stopped soon after. Years later, working at Shoreline helped even more with giving her confidence a boost, proving herself capable among the ranks of hardened mercenaries, earning their respect through grit and merit alone, and not simply by her father’s hand.

_I like your muscles_ , Chloe texts back, only a few seconds later.

_Hadn’t noticed_ , sends Nadine, trying for sarcasm. Chloe’s never been shy about her appreciation for Nadine’s athletic form. The winky face she gets in return makes her grin.

_I miss them_ , Chloe adds.

Nadine frowns. _My muscles?_

_Yeah._ There’s nothing for a moment, and Nadine feels her pulse begin to kick again, as if she knows what’s coming. True to form, Chloe texts, _Send me a picture of them, just to be fair._

_How’s that fair?_ Nadine argues.

_You already got one of me._

_That was a dirty one._

_Well make it dirty, then._

Nadine stops. She physically puts her phone down on the bed next to her, and stares up at the ceiling, breathing slowly and deeply.

What is happening right now? What, exactly, are they doing, or are about to do? She’s used to Chloe flirting with her, expects it, even, but this is different. It almost feels like she’s being tested. Like Chloe is trying to see how far she can push, what she can get away with before Nadine inevitably stops them—but why? Does she _want_ to push this? Does Nadine? In nearly all her past romantic entanglements—if this is, in fact, or will soon be, romantic and an entanglement—Nadine likes to be upfront about things, not teasing and hinting and joking. She supposes she could just ask. But, again, there is a risk here, a big one, of destroying what they have now, what they’ve built and been building for over six months, of pushing and pushing so hard that something breaks, leaving them to limp away from one another, wary and hurt, possibly for good. This could ruin them.

Risk versus reward.

She picks her phone back up. Surprisingly, Chloe hasn’t texted since her last message. She’s waiting patiently for once. If Nadine doesn’t write soon, she might get worried, and take it all back, and Nadine doesn't want that. She reads up their text thread, then scrolls back down. Carefully, she thinks of what she wants to write next.

_I didn’t ask for the one you sent me,_ she sends, because she didn't, and she wants to make that clear.

_No, but you still looked at it, didn’t you?_

Nadine rolls her eyes. Really, Frazer? She writes, _Not much of a choice. I opened my phone and it was there._

_Did you really delete it?_

Nadine hesitates. Her heart is abruptly hammering in her chest. _Yes_.

At once, Chloe messages, _Liar_.

Nadine freezes, caught. A guilty heat races through her, makes her scalp prickle and her skin tingle. How does Chloe know? She can’t. Or is she just guessing? What should she do? Come clean and admit the truth, or lie, try to deny it?

She doesn’t realize how long she lies there, utterly still, until her phone buzzes in her hands, jarring her out of her own head.

_Nadine?_

Shit. _Ja_ , she types quickly, sends.

Texts pour in, rapid-fire. _Sorry, china. I’ll stop. I was just messing with you. You don’t have to send me anything. Didn’t realize how it sounded ‘til I wrote it. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. Sorry. Ignore me! Maybe I am drunk again!_

Nadine’s eyes go wider with each message. Shit. It’s happened—she’s waited too long, and now Chloe thinks she’s the only one here, that Nadine hasn’t been pushing, too. Maybe not as hard as Chloe, but still… She never meant to make her feel that way, that she’s alone in this—whatever _this_ may be.

Her fingers twitch. There are many things she wants to say, to type, but she doesn’t know where to start.

Instead, she pauses, and peers down at herself with a critical eye, as yet uncovered by her one thin blanket. With deliberate intent, she looks over her bare arms, her brown thighs, her tapered waist. The faint light of her shaded desk lamp across the room gives her skin a reddish, ethereal glow, highlighting the lines of her hardened limbs, the faint sheen of sweat upon them from the sticky night air, the way they twitch and flex as she moves. While she doesn’t find it terribly sexy, like Chloe assumedly does, it is somewhat nice to look at.

Her brain struggles to make sense of it all. Nadine has always regarded herself with the eyes of a soldier. Her body is strong because it needs to be. Treasure hunting is a strenuous vocation, and before that, leading an established paramilitary organization meant meeting certain standards. In most cases, that meant being male, or having a particularly violent or vicious nature. Nadine, lacking all of these things, had made up for it with a firm grip and physical prowess, charging headlong into the fray alongside her men, to stand as one of them. Her body was a machine, well-oiled, built for combat. A weapon, primed for use.

Now, she tries to picture herself through Chloe’s eyes. She looks down at her body—her chest, the flat of her sternum, her breasts, small, but firm, half-erect nipples visible through the soft material of her shirt, her narrow hips and sleek flanks, the way her thick thighs are framed by the clinging hem of her shorts. She imagines Chloe there, now, in her apartment, looking at her as well, and a hard shiver rattles through her.

She picks her phone back up. A distant part of her can’t quite believe she’s even considering this. She takes pictures of herself all the time for Chloe, but this one is different in almost every way. She thinks of the photo in her phone’s trash, and feels that same conflicting surge of emotions as before. She knows, without a doubt, she can’t send something like that, but she can at least send _something_. Not because she thinks she has to, either, but because she genuinely wants to.

She turns on the camera app, flips the lens, and holds the phone above her with both hands. The look on her face in the small screen is almost comical—like an antelope in headlights. She grimaces at herself, then laughs shortly at her own expression. She relaxes slightly. She gets shot at on a regular basis. She can take a simple picture. This is nothing.

It takes a bit to find an angle that works well, and she pauses long enough to make several adjustments, propping her pillow under her back so the light reaches her better, and rolling her t-shirt’s sleeves up to her shoulders, so the full length of her arms are visible for display. Chloe did want to see her muscles, after all. She pastes a bored expression on her face, pushes her hair out of her eyes, and, just before hitting the shutter, flexes experimentally. Hidden muscle fibers pop up along her triceps and deltoids, quivering like tight bunches of thin metal wires under extreme duress. Her shoulders broaden and her biceps bulge. A vein throbs at her left elbow. She flexes a bit harder, feeling foolish but also very, very warm, making sure not to let the effort show on her face, the material of her t-shirt straining audibly over her chest. With a faint _click_ , it’s done.

Without looking at the resulting photo, she sends it off with an only partially-grudging, _Happy?_ Then she puts her phone down and stares at her ceiling in shock-muted disbelief. Three seconds later, she snatches her phone up and tries to see if she can stop the picture from sending, but it’s already been delivered. Shit. Chloe’s probably seeing it, right now.

A text bubble appears. Nadine watches as it fades, then reappears several times, as Chloe writes and re-writes her messages. She waits, vaguely nervous, and looks again at the picture she’s sent. The photo, she acknowledges after some scrutiny, turned out reasonably well. The light is low, making it hard to pick out minute details, but lends a certain quality to the brown tone of her skin, and the cut of her flexed arms. Nadine is impressed. Her routine has been doing her some favors, it seems.

Her phone buzzes, and she returns to the text thread.

_Now that deserves a reward, doesn’t it?_

A photo appears below the text. Nadine taps on it.

It’s light where Chloe is, at her mother's house, but she’s still lounging in bed. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and drowsy in a soft, sensuous way, like she’s spent an indulgent morning sleeping in and is only just now stirring. Her pose is close to identical to Nadine’s, like she’s purposefully attempted to copy it, but her arms lack the muscle tone Nadine has, seeming almost delicate in comparison, and where Nadine’s expression was impassive, Chloe’s is lit by an enormous smile. She isn’t wearing makeup and her hair is loose and falling into her eyes. Her shirt is old, threadbare almost to the point of transparency, the neck stretched wide, falling off her bare shoulder, leaving Nadine with the distinct impression that she is not wearing anything underneath. The curve of her breasts against the thin fabric makes Nadine swallow past a sudden knot in her throat. While the picture itself isn’t downright explicit, it feels terribly intimate, somehow. It hits Nadine just as hard as the photo lingering in her phone’s trashcan, if not more.

Nadine doesn’t delete this one. She saves it. Rather than place it into the folder with all the other pictures Chloe sends her, she makes a new folder, and calls it, simply, Chloe.

A buzz.

_Will you send me another one?_

Nadine stares at her phone in surprise. Chloe already wants another? Just taking the first one was difficult enough. She texts back, _Don’t be greedy_.

_But I am greedy_ , Chloe readily replies.

Here, Nadine hesitates. She could say no. Chloe won’t be angry with her for refusing. As she always does, she’ll laugh it off, say goodnight, and forget about it. But for some reason, Nadine is feeling reckless now, and brave, the six-thousand-mile distance between them a solid buffer to her own nagging fears and uncertainties.

_Say please,_ she sends. For once, she’s the one who’s teasing.

The text arrives almost instantly. _Asseblief._

_Please,_ in Afrikaans.

And, so, it’s happening again. She refuses to think too hard about this, or she’ll self-destruct out of sheer mortification. She knows where to draw the line—and what will break it entirely. Chloe likes her body, her physical strength, so this time, Nadine does not point the camera at her face, but instead lifts the bottom edge of her shirt, gathering the cloth under her breasts so her bare abdomen is limned by the reddish glow of her lamp. Her underlying tension makes her stiffen, so she uses that to her advantage, and flexes hard. Muscles jump and knot across the flat of her stomach. She centers the lens on her quavering torso and holds her breath. The shutter clicks.

She sends it.

A minute later, she gets a reply. It’s another picture. Chloe’s tried to copy her again, her thin shirt drawn up so the warm, light brown expanse of her stomach is bared to the morning light. Her skin looks unspeakably soft. Unlike Nadine, who is all hard edges and rigid furrows, she has only the faintest of muscle tone along her abdomen, though Nadine can see half a dozen or so light-colored scars littered across her skin—being a thief is neither a safe nor luxurious profession. The imperfections detract nothing, and seem to instead enhance the overall image. Her belly button is like a perfectly placed beauty mark. Nadine can see the hem of Chloe’s underwear—red, of course—the elastic clinging to the round of her hips and riding high upon the subtle swells of her hipbones.

She saves this picture, too.

For about five minutes, Nadine does not write a reply. She has no words. Neither, apparently, does Chloe. The silence is profound. Like neither of them can believe what they’ve done.

Finally, her heart still racing at full speed, temples throbbing, Nadine shoots off a curt, _Goeie nag_ , or, good night, just so Chloe knows she’s still alive, then powers her phone down and puts it on the nightstand.

Sleep is difficult to find. Nadine’s body is on high alert, refusing to shut off for the night. She wonders if maybe she should touch herself, so she can calm down, release all the energy that’s been building since the first photo, less than a day before, knowing it’ll be over fast, possibly embarrassingly so, but for some reason, she finds she wants the achy, anxious feeling to stay. She wants to relish it, remember it. She closes her eyes and sees Chloe there, her golden brown skin, her low-lidded eyes. Her dreams, when they do come, are heated and messy and make almost no sense. She can’t remember anything of them when she wakes less than 7 hours later to her jangling alarm clock.

That morning, she runs eight miles.

 

—

 

Her mother, naturally, notices something is amiss almost at once. Nadine is helping her with some rearranging—every few months, her mother likes to move the furniture in the house about, to give it a fresh, new look and feel, with Nadine doing the brunt of the heavy lifting as her mother directs with a professional eye—and after shuttling an old, faded red loveseat from one side of the living room to the other, turning it so it faces the broad picture window, her mother at last announces herself satisfied, and brings Nadine a cup of tea and a frown.

“Are you alright, _liewe_?” she asks as Nadine drinks. “You’ve been so quiet.”

For her mother to notice and comment upon her uneasiness means Nadine must be worse off than she realized. She grunts in answer, finishes her tea, and then holds a side table up helpfully, so her mother can scoot the small rug beneath it a little to the side, so it’s perfectly square. “I’m fine, _Ma_. Are you sure you like it? What about the desk?”

Afterwards, they go for a walk together. Nadine is distracted, however, and twice her mother asks her a question that Nadine fails to answer, or even hear entirely. Her mother doesn’t get upset, just laughs, and tells her to pull her head out of the clouds.

“I’ve never seen my _liewe_ so out of sorts,” she muses warmly. Nadine’s ears go hot. She chooses not to comment. “How is your work going? And your friend? I am hoping you two are taking good care of each other.”

At that, Nadine flushes even harder.

They’re having an early supper when a late text from Chloe comes through, probably stuttered by the spotty reception outside the city. Automatically, Nadine picks her phone up and swipes, and then freezes in place at the dinner table. It’s a picture—Nadine’s lungs seize at the thought of last night, the pictures they’d traded, the horrific possibility that Chloe’s sent another, with Nadine’s mother right across from her—but this one, thankfully, is quite innocent; a simple selfie of Chloe with a beautiful smile, and a spectacular blood-red Australian sunset sinking low in the distance behind her. The look on Chloe’s face is tender and sweet. Her eyes, looking straight into the camera in a way that’s almost a challenge, are utterly soft and warm.

“That is your friend, yes?” says her mother, and gently removes the phone from her hands, so she can see, too. Nadine doesn’t dare stop her. Her mother looks it over with a gentle expression. “What a nice picture,” she murmurs, though there is a strange note in her voice now.

Inwardly, Nadine cringes. She’s talked to her mother plenty about Chloe, showed her other pictures and told her shortened stories of their adventures, usually censored of any danger, but nothing more. She knows her mother wants to meet her, and vice-versa, as she’s already met Chloe’s mother once (a warm, rowdy, persistently barefoot, free-hugging Aussie with enough motherly affection to give her own some competition). Still, she doesn’t want her mother to get any ideas about the nature of her and Chloe’s relationship. They’re business partners—business partners who exchange photos with each other, some of which push the boundaries of a traditional friendship. But this is something her mother definitely does not need to know.

Her phone buzzes again. Her mother’s eyes flicker across the screen, brows climbing to her hairline. She clears her throat delicately and hands Nadine back her phone, then takes Nadine’s mostly-empty plate from her. “I’ll get you more, _liewe_.”

_Miss you, china,_ reads the text Chloe has sent her. _Wish you were here_. Nadine grimaces at the fact her mother saw that, while inside, her heart pangs sharply. The question she has refused to ask Chloe for two weeks has now been answered, and a thick, syrupy feeling fills her chest. Quickly, she clicks the screen off and slides her phone into her pocket as her mother returns with seconds, feigning nonchalance. “ _Dankie_.”

They eat in silence for a moment.

“Your friend seems like a nice woman,” says her mother, just a little too casually. Nadine is immediately suspicious.

“Ja.”

“You will bring her to visit sometime, won’t you? I would very much like to meet her.”

Nadine looks away, sips from her cup of tea. “Told you I would.”

“Sometime this year, _nunu_.”

_Eish_ , not that horrible nickname. Last time she heard it, she’d been nine. “Only if you promise not to call me that again.”

Her mother laughs. “Perhaps I could tell it to your _nooi_ , have her call you that too.”

And—shit, there it is. “She’s not my girlfriend,” Nadine corrects quickly. She’s not sure what’s given her mother that idea—one picture and two text messages is hardly ample evidence—but it certainly wasn’t her. At least, she doesn’t believe it was. “We’re business partners. That's all.”

Her mother narrows her eyes, _hmms_ quietly. “Does _she_ know that?”

Nadine just sighs. This is something she’d very much rather not talk about.

Luckily, her mother seems to understand, and changes the subject.

"My room still made up?” Nadine asks, later, as the evening turns into night.

A delighted expression comes across her mother’s face. “Oh, you’re staying?”

“Ja. If that’s—”

“Ah, don’t even say that. Stay, stay! I will make you breakfast.”

Nadine smiles. She’s already looking forward to it.

An hour later, lying in her old room, atop her childhood bed, a lumpy twin-size which served her well from the age of ten to eighteen, she cautiously takes her phone back out. She’s sure her mother is asleep, but feels as though she’s doing something wrong by texting late at night, like a disobedient child. But it’s nearing 11PM, and Chloe should be awake by now, and they haven’t talked since the night before. Or, perhaps _talked_ isn’t the right word for what they did. Still, Nadine doesn’t want to make Chloe think she’s avoiding her.

Besides, she already knows what she wants to say.

_I liked the picture you sent me. With the sunset_ , Nadine admits, feeling oddly shy as she writes out the text message. _My mother saw it._ She hesitates, then tacks on, _She thinks you’re my girlfriend_.

_There's an idea_ , is what Chloe eventually texts back, a few minutes later. Which—what is _that_ supposed to mean, Nadine wonders. Her phone buzzes again. _And?_

_And what?_ Nadine sends back, confused.

_What’d you tell her?_

_That you’re not._ It seems harsh, she realizes, after hitting send, saying it like that. Blunt. Like a fist to the face. She feels a sudden discomfiting need to explain herself, or to take it back. Which is stupid, since all she’s done is tell the truth. Right? _Because you aren’t,_ she adds limply.

There is no reply for almost five minutes. Nadine spends the time starting and deleting a dozen different sentences, but she’s not quite sure of what she wants to say anymore, and how to get it out correctly without accidentally hurting Chloe’s feelings. That is, if she hasn’t already. But why would her feelings get hurt, if what Nadine said is true? They’re not girlfriends. They’re…

She isn’t sure what they are now.

Finally, a text comes, and all it says is, _Goeie nag, Nadine. Sweet dreams._

_Goeie nag_ , Nadine replies, and then lies there, feeling strangely bereft, and painfully alone.

 

—

 

Unlike the city, where the day starts hot and loud, and only grows hotter and louder as the hours pass, the country here is cool and quiet and refreshing. In the early hours, Nadine lays in bed with the windows open, enjoying the light breeze filtering through the curtains. She won’t be going for a run this morning. Not when she can already smell and hear a delicious breakfast sizzling and spitting downstairs. Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. She waits until its third repetition before she gets out of bed.

A heaped plate is already waiting for her at the table. She eats her fill as her mother watches her affectionately from the kitchen, singing an old folk song under her breath and swaying side to side to match the rhythm. It reminds Nadine of when she was young, eating at this same table before school, and then later, before work at Shoreline, sitting and drinking tea or coffee with her father as he read the paper. She can still feel his emptiness in the house, like an open sore. It would be unbearable if her mother weren’t here to fill the space with her quiet singing, her warm smiles, and the loud clang and rich smell of her cooking.

In her pocket, she feels a muffled buzz, and pulls out her phone. It’s Chloe, who, for once, has kindly waited until she knew Nadine was awake before texting her.

_Goeiemôre,_ it says, followed by a picture of Chloe’s sleepy face, a dreamy smile on her lips. Nadine studies it intently. She looks good. Rested. The dark circles that had been growing under her eyes for weeks are completely gone. There is a playful air to her today, in the way she’s peering up at the camera through lowered lashes, glossy black hair falling over her eyes. Nadine doesn’t realize how long she’s been staring until her mother clears her throat, and jerks her head up, caught.

“You will have traffic unless you leave soon, _liewe_ ,” her mother chides softly.

“Ja. _Dankie_ , for the food. It was delicious.” She stands, and methodically gathers her things. “You sure you like it?” she asks, gesturing to the furniture around her. The new arrangement will take some getting used to, but she finds the change refreshing, and her mother seems rather pleased.

Outside, she hugs her mother, kisses her on the cheek. Her mother holds her close, as tightly as she can, nowhere close to hurting, sturdy as Nadine is. Nadine waits for her to let go first before taking a small step back.

“I’ll visit again when I can. _Lief vir jou_.”

Her mother is silent. Nadine stops, and waits, aware her mother must have something important to say.

After a long moment, her mother looks at her and lifts a gentle hand to her face, cupping her chin in her palm.

“Nadine. I want you to listen to me. When you love someone—”

“ _Ma_ , I already told you—” Nadine interrupts, terribly embarrassed. She is _not_ secretly in love with her business partner. Something may be… _changing_ between them, and she does care about Chloe quite a lot, perhaps more than anyone else in her life other than her own mother, but that doesn’t… It doesn’t mean—

The hand on her chin gives a little squeeze of reproach. “Do not interrupt your mother.” Nadine bites her lip, and tolerates a chiding look that reminds her of being very small. “When you love someone, you tell them. You do not hide it away. You let it out for all to see. And if they do not love you in return, it is not the end of the world. Sometimes you will keep loving them, and it will make you sad. But that is okay, because then you will find someone else to give that love to, and they will give you love back. You know it does not matter to me who you love, if it is a man or a woman. If you have found someone to share your love with, I want to know, so I can be happy for you. How can I be happy, if you do not talk to me about your life?”

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend,” Nadine repeats quietly.

Her mother still looks suspicious, but nods slowly. “Well. Perhaps that is so.” She pauses. “She sends you very lovely pictures.”

“We’re friends. Friends send pictures.”

Her mother gives her a look, as if to say, _I can’t believe my daughter is this thick-headed_. “She said she missed you. Do you miss her?”

“That’s not—”

“Do you?”

Nadine huffs, angry about having to be so honest, and foolish, for being angry. “Of course I miss her.”

“And have you told her that?”

“I…” Nadine trails off, and rubs the back of her neck, feeling guilty and nervous and many other things she doesn’t quite understand all at once. “No.”

Her mother _hmmms_ knowingly. “Talk to her, _liewe_.”

“It’s not that easy,” says Nadine, trying to look away. “What if…” Her mother squeezes her chin again, and she automatically meets her eyes.

“My daughter is not afraid of anything,” her mother says, with all the confidence Nadine has ever seen or heard. She wants very badly to believe her. “She is the bravest person I have ever known. And she is strong. Stronger even than her father. Listen to your mother. Your love is precious. It should not be kept away. Let it out to the sun. Give it water. How else can it grow?”

Nadine is quiet. She looks at her mother and nods. She wants to say something, but when she opens her mouth, there are no words there. Instead, she swallows thickly, and lets her mother hug her again. This time, she squeezes back just as hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thought process in writing this fic: chloe sure does like to take pictures... she probably has all kinds in that phone of hers... ALL KINDS... even... dirty ones... and BOY... sure would be a SHAME... if nadine were to... SEE THEM
> 
> anyways, was going to post this story as a whole, but it was taking too long to write, so I split it into two parts. Part two should be up later in the week, maybe (hopefully?) by the weekend. Errors in translation, regional animal habitats, time zones, and how cellphones actually work are all on me, and Google I guess. I was too lazy to do real research.
> 
> also, shoutout to tumblr user @kaydidthis/bakathom, a fellow Chloe/Nadine fan who very kindly sent me a copy of an awesome fanzine they made! Check them out on tumblr and send some love! Thank you Kay!
> 
> [here's a link to the zine!](https://bakathom.tumblr.com/post/170976775116/via-kay-on-instagram-a-demo-of-the-chlodine)


	2. Reward

Nadine thinks of her mother’s words the whole drive back. Sitting in traffic, stewing in the rising heat, surrounded by a cacophony of honking horns and revving engines, nose filled with the pungent scent of petrol and people, she feels the spark within her flare, hot and hungry. She doesn’t have a name for it, yet, but it’s familiar. It’s something she hasn’t felt in a good while. It’s a need. A want. A risk.

Once she’s home, she unwinds—or, attempts to—by spending her usual two hours in her back room, lifting weights. She does bench presses, and goes heavier and heavier, feeling a sudden need to test herself, until she finds herself nearing her maximum limit. Her shoulders and chest are on fire, arms shaking with effort, muscles watery and cramping. She strains, lifts, and racks the barbell with a sharp clang, her body covered in sweat, lungs burning. After catching her breath, she sits up, and counts the weights, and realizes she’s gone past the heaviest she’s ever lifted before, more than she ever thought she could possibly go. Exhausted and shaky as she is, it feels like a victory.

She showers in tepid water, and spends the afternoon whiling away with random chores, cleaning up what little clutter has accumulated throughout her apartment in the past few days. Her cellphone is silent. Chloe is asleep. Nadine is glad, because it gives her time to think. To imagine. To decide.

She settles into bed early, before 10PM, and pulls out her phone. With a simple tap, the trashcan pops open, and there it is—the picture that started this tangled, knotted mess in Nadine’s head. She taps on it so it fills the screen, and rather than put her phone back down, or guiltily avert her gaze, she looks her fill. She takes in everything—the heady, clouded look in Chloe’s eyes, the red plush of her bitten lip, the pink firmness of her exposed nipple, the sweeping curves of her body—and this time, she lets herself _feel_.

A flame of arousal ignites almost immediately and unravels along her arms and legs, burning brightly in the pit of her chest. Her pulse throbs sluggishly, gradually picking up speed, as if waking from a deep sleep. On reflex, her face and neck go hot and radiating, and a light sweat forms at the hollow of her throat and under her arms, aided by the stuffy heat of the room around her and the sweltering night air crowding at her half-open windows. Despite the temperature, her nipples prickle and harden. The tight, aching feeling is back between her thighs. She squeezes her legs together to absolutely no relief.

Again, she feels the same, powerful urge to touch herself, to break the tension trapping her body in place. While she doesn’t try to suppress it any longer, she doesn’t give in and obey it, either. What she does, however, is select the picture, and choose save. She moves it to the folder with Chloe’s name on it. There are five photos in there now—none as explicit as the first, but each still striking and beautiful in their own way. Nadine looks at each one in turn, taking her time, and feels the heaviness within her grow.

At 11PM, when she knows Chloe is awake, she sends a text.

_I want a picture._

She is rigid with anticipation for several minutes as she waits for an answer, before the typing bubble finally appears.

 _Thought I already sent you one today,_ sends Chloe, followed by a winky-face, referring to her good morning text. _If anything, you owe me one._

So then, she’s going for cute, is she? Nadine finds she isn’t in the mood for coy and playful. Not tonight. Not when she is feeling like this. Like something that is close to brave.

 _Chloe_ , she sends. After a moment, she adds, _Please_.

There’s nothing for almost a minute. Then, a buzz.

_You sure?_

Nadine has never been more sure of anything _. You told me if I wanted another one, I’d have to ask._

_And you’re asking?_

_I’m asking_ , Nadine confirms.

It’s quiet. Nadine waits, breathing slowly and evenly, staring at her phone screen with a steady gaze. With a quick buzz, it alerts a new text. It’s a photo.

Chloe isn’t in bed in this picture, nor is she wearing a sultry underwear set. She’s in a light blue-and-white tiled bathroom, and she’s wearing nothing at all. The sight of so much bare skin leaves Nadine momentarily breathless. The phone is pointed up and over Chloe’s naked shoulder, cleverly using the mirror behind her to capture a tasteful image of her bare back, her lower half teasingly cut off by the jut of the sink below. Nadine can see the graceful slope of her spine and the sharp cut of her shoulderblades. She can see the twin dimples positioned just above the swell of her bottom before it disappears behind white enamel. The mirror is steamed at the edges, as though from a fresh shower, and Chloe’s light brown skin is covered in hundreds of shimmering water droplets, making it look as though she’s glowing. Her wet black hair glistens like precious oil, twisted into a long, dark rope and pulled over her other shoulder so the finely arched nape of her neck is visible. Her face is only partly turned toward the mirror—Nadine can see an ear, the edge of her proud nose, the line of her jaw, and her grinning lips. Then she notices something that makes her pulse thunder in her veins.

There is a faint bruise on the back of Chloe’s left shoulder. Nadine’s seen it before. She remembers exactly when and how Chloe got it—three weeks ago, in Peru. They’d been trying to climb out of yet another pathetically empty crypt, and Chloe had slipped, fallen several feet, and landed hard on a jagged rock, bruising herself up something awful. She hadn’t been able to use her arm for a few hours afterwards, it’d been so sore. Nadine had had to carry her out on her back after that. Chloe, of course, had absolutely loved it, making Nadine suspect the actual injury hadn’t been that bad, and Chloe just wanted the free ride.

The bruise means, unlike the first photo, that Chloe took this picture recently. Very recently, judging by how faint the bruise has since become. Maybe even only a few days ago. Then Nadine realizes where she’s seen the bathroom before—during her one visit to Chloe’s mother’s house. It’s the guest bathroom, on the second floor.

 _Thought you said you didn’t take pictures like that for other people,_ Nadine types out.

_Yes, but I also said you’re special, remember?_

A warm, happy flutter passes through her. This picture isn’t for anyone else. It’s for her—for Nadine. Probably, Chloe took it earlier in the week sometime, correctly predicting that Nadine would ask for one after her little dare a few days ago, the little brat. Nadine can’t find it in herself to be angry, however. Just flattered.

 _Do you want another one?_ Chloe prompts, innocently enough. Nadine aches. She is the greedy one now. Her answer is immediate.

 _Yes_.

And, just like that, there’s another picture in the thread. It’s of Chloe in the bathroom again, only this time she’s turned around, and the sight of her barely-concealed breasts makes Nadine quake inside. Chloe has one arm extended in front of her, taking the picture, and the other pressed ineffectually over her chest, as though attempting to cover herself when really all it does is enhance her nakedness. Dark, wet tendrils of hair cling to her jaw and the sides of her neck, giving her a slightly wild appearance. Thin rivulets of water glisten on her sternum and at the curve of her throat and drip in threads down her stomach.The look on her face is a cross between gentle teasing and obscenely illicit. A visible field of goosebumps extends over the ridge of her ribs and down the flat plane of her belly, speckled with glistening beads of water. Nadine wants, suddenly and with great passion, to taste each and every one of those water droplets, to lap at Chloe’s pebbled skin until she is warm and squirming and gasping for breath.

Her phone buzzes, making her jump.

_If you want more, you’ll have to wait. It’s bloody freezing in here and I have to towel off._

An invisible jolt snaps through Nadine’s brain a second before it shuts down. She goes completely still, stunned cold, her heart pounding rapidly in her ears as reality sets in. Chloe didn’t take the photos a couple days ago, on a whim to tease Nadine if she asked for one. She’s taking them now. Right now. This very second.

The situation abruptly becomes very clear. Chloe is texting her, naked, and sending her pictures of herself, because Nadine asked for them. Nadine realizes, in a far off, dimly lit part of her mind, that they’ve smashed right through harmless flirting and charged blindly onward into dangerous, uncharted territory. Or perhaps it was never harmless, this thing between them. Not since the first picture. Nor the one after, or the ones now. Maybe it has always been something more, and Nadine simply did not notice.

But she is noticing now, and though it’s new and a little frightening, she doesn’t want to cut her losses and walk away, like she used to do with Shoreline. She’s done with that. She is a different person these days.

After a tortuously long minute or two, a text from Chloe arrives. _Still want another one, or have you fallen asleep? ;)_

Nadine’s brain is still mush. Unable to come up with something witty or worthy of banter, she just sends, _Please_.

A buzz. Nadine taps, expands the new photo.

Chloe’s gotten back into her messy, sheet-strewn bed now, lying flat on the blanket-stripped mattress, a thick bar of sunlight streaming in through the nearby window, turning her skin a gorgeous golden brown color. The water droplets are gone, leaving her body delicate and soft-looking, her hair tousled and damp. The goosebumps are gone. She is still very naked. The picture remains untawdry, somehow, with Chloe artfully blocking her breasts with her opposite arm, and cutting the frame of the picture off just below her belly button, so Nadine cannot see what lies beneath. Her expression now is serene and satisfied, like a lazy cat lying purring in the sun.

_More?_

Nadine can’t think any longer. _Yes_ , she says. It’s nearly addicting, how easy this is. To answer a question, and then get something in return. She feels powerful. Practically intoxicated with it. Yet so grateful she could cry.

Her phone continues to buzz. Chloe stops prompting her, and sends one picture after another, until Nadine is dizzy with them, and the hot, urgent feeling surging rampantly inside her.

The pictures grow bolder. Soon Chloe isn’t trying to cover herself as much. The heat in her eyes is molten now, her grin turned wicked and sharp, teeth bared like something primal and untamed. Her poses change—on her back, on her side, on her front. In every one, she looks directly into the camera, as though she’s looking into Nadine’s eyes, head-on. As if she’s there. Meeting them, Nadine feels weak with desire.

A new photo arrives, and the sudden sight of Chloe’s naked breasts hits like a physical blow. She hasn’t even mildly attempted to shield them from sight—her free hand is squeezing firmly at the soft underside of her left breast, the web between thumb and forefinger nudging at her pink, erect nipple. Nadine buries a moan working its way up her throat. She wonders how those nipples would feel against her lips, or between her callused fingers, the noises Chloe would make if she were to bite them.

It occurs to her, dully, that Chloe hasn’t asked for a single picture of Nadine in return. Or, at least, not yet. She’s glad for it, as she doesn’t think she could manage one right now if she tried, not when it’s taking everything she has to stay lucid, to respectfully keep her hands there on her phone, and not thrust one roughly past her waistband and rub herself frantically to completion. The need is growing. It’s almost unbearable.

 _Alright?_ Chloe texts suddenly, as if she’s a doctor, checking in on a jumpy patient. Nadine realizes she hasn’t written a response for the last three or four pictures, and feels a little bad for her neglect. Who knows what Chloe is thinking in the face of that silence.

 _Ja_ , she sends quickly. _Sorry_. While she refuses to straight out admit her struggle not to touch herself, she does write, _Bit distracted_.

_Hard to type with one hand, isn’t it? ;)_

_Funny_ , _Frazer_ , Nadine replies, wishing she were as unaffected as Chloe apparently seems to be in a blatantly sexual situation like this. Nadine herself has never been more out of her element. She takes a steadying breath and notices how tense she’s become, her muscles held so tightly she’s shaking, and forces herself to try and relax. It takes great effort to stop her hips from pressing instinctively backwards and forwards, seeking pressure of any kind, even if it’s just from the firmness of her own mattress beneath her. She doesn’t have to squeeze her thighs together to know she’s wet. The fiery ache in her lower stomach is close to hurting.

There’s another buzz.

Nadine gasps aloud, her breath rasping sharply in her throat. This picture makes the others look almost innocent in comparison. Chloe is on her back again, her bare breasts and face filling the top half of the photo. Below, her other arm is angled downwards, her wrist resting flat on her stomach and her hand cupped tightly between her thighs. Nadine can see, between her fingers, the dark of her pubic hair, and the flush of something pink and wet. It doesn’t take much to figure out what Chloe’s hand might be doing down there. Nadine stares, and aches, and wants, and then looks up, back at Chloe’s face. Her expression doesn’t seem so smug anymore, or filled with its usual playful glint. Rather, her eyes have softened and she seems…shy, almost. Not unsure, exactly, but hesitant. It’s a strange sight. Just seeing it makes Nadine’s teeth close on her bottom lip, and bite down until she tastes a bitter tang of blood.

 _Nadine_ , Chloe sends. Checking in again?

 _Here,_ she writes. _Still alive_ , she almost adds, but the time for jokes is well past. What they’re doing isn’t funny, or something to laugh at, or brush off. It’s taking quick steps toward becoming something very serious, something that matters.

 _I miss you_ , comes suddenly from Chloe. It’s as good as a picture. It’s better. It cuts through Nadine’s woozy arousal, brings her back to earth. Her chest constricts, leaving her short of breath. It reminds her that there is more to this than just desire, and want, and sex.

 _Chloe_ , she writes, sends. She has so much she wants to say. _I miss you, too_ , maybe. Or, _you drive me crazy_. _I want to touch you so badly, but I’m afraid it’ll ruin everything_ , is another. _I’m scared. I’m happy. I’m excited. I want you. I need you._ But her thumbs feel numb, sluggish. Her head spins, and she writes nothing, feeling lost and reeling.

There are no texts from Chloe for so long Nadine begins to grow worried. She’s considering an apology—for pushing, for being greedy, for anything—when the bubble pops back up.

_Can I call you?_

Nadine’s first and most primal instinct is to refuse. Just texting with Chloe is overwhelming enough, even with a tiny screen and six thousand miles between them. But, she realizes, maybe Chloe is feeling unsure, too. Vulnerable. It’s selfish of Nadine to want to keep herself safe, while Chloe is the one taking all the risks for the both of them. It isn’t fair.

Still, she hesitates. If she hears Chloe’s voice now, she’ll break. There will be no going back. She will never be able to pretend she doesn’t feel this way for her partner. Chloe will know the truth. And that, she accepts at last, is fine. Somehow, it will be okay.

 _Let it out_ , said her mother. _How else can it grow?_

 _Ja_ , she sends to Chloe.

Already, she can tell it’s going to be awful. _She’s_ going to be awful. Texting is one thing—you type out a message, make sure it says what you want, and send it off at your leisure. But speaking aloud, talking to Chloe, trying to put how she’s feeling into actual words, especially after everything, after all this… The idea doesn’t exactly terrify her, but it does put her on edge, metaphorical hackles bristling in alarm. She feels as though she’s about to make a plunging leap across a gaping chasm of which she cannot see the bottom. Hopefully, her partner will be reaching out to catch her before she falls. But then Chloe has never failed her before. Why should she now?

Almost at once, her phone begins to ring. On the second ring, she picks up.

“Hi,” she says quietly, already at a bit of a loss of what to say.

“Hey, china,” says Chloe, her voice equally subdued. This is a tone Nadine has not heard before. It’s warm and breathy and just the slightest bit shaky. It curls out of the tiny phone speaker and sighs into her ear and tingles down her spine and makes her skin tighten all over with a wave of goosebumps.

The line falls silent between them. Nadine can hear the soft crackle of static from the reception, and Chloe’s slightly-quickened breaths. She waits for Chloe to speak, to bring the same ease and flow to their conversations she always has in the past, but her partner is conspicuously silent, and she begins to worry. Is Chloe re-thinking this, or regretting what she’s sent, what they’ve done? She couldn’t bear it—for Chloe to be ashamed of anything between them.

“Chloe?” she says. “Are you—?”

“Fine, fine,” Chloe cuts in hurriedly. “Just thinking. Wanted to hear your voice. Is that okay?”

“Ja. I—ja.”

“I miss you.” The sincerity in her tone makes Nadine’s throat swell. She admires how Chloe can say it so easily, with such open emotion. “I know that probably sounds, I dunno, needy or whatever. I mean, it’s been, what, two weeks since I last saw you, and I bloody text you every day—”

“No,” Nadine interrupts quickly. “It’s not—it—I miss you too.” And shit, there. She’s said it. Finally. Those three stupid, precious little words. Not so loud or emphatically as Chloe had, but still. It’s there. It’s out.

“Do you now?” Chloe confirms in a drawl. A hint of her usual wryness has returned, along with something else, light and hopeful. “What parts of me do you miss the most?”

Rather than play along, Nadine simply admits, “Just—you. All of you.” Her ears burn at the throaty chuckle she receives in return. It seems she’s said something right, at least.

“You’re sweet,” Chloe says softly.

Nadine let out a quick breath of relief and hopes Chloe can’t hear it. Her body is still thrumming with excitement from the photos, throbbing at the crux of her thighs, practically crying out for relief. She can’t stop thinking of Chloe’s naked body, her pink-nippled breasts, her long-fingered hand cupping her partially-hidden mound. Hearing Chloe’s husky voice is not helping in the least. “Thank you,” she says, to fill the quiet. “For the pictures.”

“Hmmm,” goes Chloe, with a hitch to her breath that makes Nadine’s neck prickle, but in a good way. “Which one’s your favorite?” she teases predictably.

And, well—that’s easy. “The one from the other day.”

"The other day?”

“With the sunset. It… You looked beautiful.”

It goes utterly silent. The line crackles. Nadine fears she’s overstepped somehow, despite everything else they’ve already done and shared, but then Chloe groans, and mutters in a low, exasperated tone, sounding as if she is only halfway joking, “Jesus, china, you really need to stop saying things like that and making me want to kiss you stupid next time I see you.”

A hot thrill rushes up Nadine’s spine, and before Chloe can laugh and say she didn’t mean it, or before the moment can pass and fade into something else, she shoots back with false bravado: “What if I want you to?”

Chloe makes a noise of stunned delight. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with my partner?” she jokes, predictably attempting to make light of the previous statement. That, essentially, Chloe wants to kiss her, and Nadine wants her to as well.

“Chloe,” she says softly, chiding.

“Sorry,” Chloe soberly replies, and goes quiet again.

“The picture,” Nadine says suddenly, as an idea dawns, and things click clumsily into place. “The first picture. Did… Did you really send that by accident?”

An awkward few seconds go by.

“Okay, honestly?” starts Chloe, with an edge of nervousness Nadine has never heard before. “I’m not completely sure. I mean, I was pretty drunk, but I do remember having a moment of clarity, and thinking I should send you something dirty, just to see what you’d do. Didn’t think I’d actually go through with it, though. Guess they don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, eh, china?”

“Oh.” Something inside Nadine falters. Shrinks. “So, it was a joke.”

“What? No. No! I—shit.”

“Chloe,” Nadine says firmly. She is done with playing, and guessing. This is not a game. She wants the truth, and to hell with all the risks.

Chloe sighs, loudly. The shakiness is back in her voice, though she’s trying to cover it with false cheer. “Okay. Cards on the table again, I guess. I’ve sort’ve had a… slight crush on you for a bit, and—”

“A _what?_ ” says Nadine, stupefied.

“Look, I—I like you, china, alright?”

It’s quiet.

“You’re serious right now,” Nadine says numbly. “You _—_ you’re _—fok_.” She almost doesn’t want to believe it, it’s so absurd. That Chloe Frazer—beautiful, kind, charming Chloe, who could have practically anyone she wanted—wants _her_.

She can almost hear Chloe’s resulting eye roll. “Oh, come on, Nadine. You may be ridiculously repressed but you’re not stupid.”

Nadine shakes her head, presses her free hand to her brow. “I punched you in the face. You can’t have a crush on me.”

“I deserved it. Plus, you apologized after. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“’Course I wouldn’t, I’d kill someone if they…” she trails off, then asks in a small, quiet voice, “What are we doing, Chloe?” She needs someone—anyone—to explain this to her. She’s tired of feeling so lost.

“Sorry,” Chloe says bluntly, “do you not know what phone sex is?”

A surge of shocked desire burns through Nadine from crown to toe. She gasps harshly, caught off guard, and Chloe similarly falls silent, as if stunned by her own boldness. Or maybe waiting to see what Nadine will do next. Hanging up is still an option, but an unspeakably cruel one. It’s an easy out. Usually, that is how Nadine would operate. Less risk. But, in this case, less reward, too, and she would stand to lose so much more than any priceless treasure.

“Shit, sorry,” Chloe blurts, sounding slightly embarrassed. “That was a little—I—I keep forgetting you’re not—I’m not trying to make you do something you—”

“Chloe—”

“—I can hang up now—”

“Chloe!”

Chloe stops.

They listen to each other’s breathing for a long, weighted moment.

“You like me,” Nadine says, for confirmation, wishing there was a less childish way to put it. It makes it sound like they’re twelve. Either way, Chloe makes a quiet sound of assent. “You’re attracted to me.” At that, Chloe makes a louder sound. A definite yes. “So you sent the picture. On purpose.”

Chloe groans softly, sounding very much like she wants to lie. “…Maybe.” Then, before Nadine can speak, she rushes out, “Listen, if you’re not interested, if it’s just a one-sided thing, fine, just tell me. I’m a big girl, I can—”

“It’s not.”

Miraculously, Chloe stops again.

“It’s not one-sided,” Nadine finishes, surprised by how steady her voice is.

"Oh,” says Chloe, in that soft, nervous way again, sounding almost awestruck, which is strange for someone with so much confidence. “I mean, you asking for more pictures was sort of a tip off, now that I think about it.”

Nadine chuckles weakly. “And you say I’m the stupid one.”

“Well. Just don’t tell anyone. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

“Right.”

“Nadine,” says Chloe, quiet and assuring, “we don’t have to push this anymore than you want to. I can hang up and, you know. Take care of myself. You can go to sleep. Honest.”

Nadine considers it. Her body is still on high alert, but her heart has calmed somewhat. She no longer feels on the verge of total collapse. The moment she thinks about it, however—staying on the line, Chloe in her ear, talking to each other as their hands wander—she begins to ache again. “Have you ever had it before?” she asks, curious.

“Had what, love?”

“You know.”

A smoky chuckle drifts across the line. “I do. Just want to hear you say it.”

Nadine huffs, refusing to back down. “Phone sex. Have you ever had phone sex before?”

Chloe hesitates. “Not with someone who mattered,” she admits, and Nadine feels touched by her honesty. “You sure you want to give it a go? Really, like I said, I can just hang up and finish myself off just as easy.”

“I’m not… opposed,” says Nadine carefully. “Just… Don’t get your hopes up.” She hesitates as a memory she is not at all fond of rears its head. “My last girlfriend said I was like a robot when we had sex.”

“Well, stuff her, then,” Chloe snaps sharply, sounding genuinely peeved.

“Just saying. I’m not going to be good at this. Not just the phone. Us. This. Whatever _this_ is.”

“Right,” snorts Chloe. “And you think I know how to have a normal relationship? I’m the queen of dysfunction. Why do you think I led with nudes and not a fancy dinner on the town?”

Nadine gives a short, quiet laugh. “So,” she starts, tentative again, her mind snagging on Chloe's previous statement, “we’re in a relationship.”

“I told you I don’t take pictures like that for other people.” Chloe is quiet for a moment. “You're not other people, not to me. But, I mean, if you don’t like labels, or if you just want it to be about sex, I can—”

“Girlfriends,” Nadine supplies.

“Huh?”

“Let’s try… girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends. Alright. I like it.” Chloe makes a soft, happy sound. “Where’s all this coming from, china?”

Nadine cups the back of her neck in her palm and looks up at the ceiling. “My mother, the other day. She said some things to me that I didn’t want to hear. But I listened anyway.”

“Can I have her number? I’d like to thank her personally.”

“I think she’d rather meet you in person.”

“Sure. When I visit, alright?”

“Ja.” Nadine feels warm now. Content. The tight, throbbing feeling in her body has lessened, or at least, no longer demands immediate attention.

“So, then,” husks Chloe, her smoky accent lowering into a gravelly purr, and just like that, Nadine is back on the brink. “You’ve got your girlfriend on the phone, and she’s naked. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Hang up, if she keeps talking about herself in the third person.”

Chloe guffaws, cackling wildly. After a moment, Nadine joins her. It breaks some of her nervous tension, but not all.

“Told you I’d be horrible,” she says. “Sorry if I’m ruining this.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, love,” says Chloe. “I’m already halfway there. Just give me five minutes, tops.”

Nadine gulps. They haven’t even really started—or have they?—and already, she feels adrift in a wild, untamed ocean.

“What—what should I do?” she asks, as though she should have a clear purpose outlined. A set of orders to follow. Something.

“I mean, you can talk if you like,” Chloe says. There’s some rustling in the background, like she’s shifting around on her bed, maybe trying to find a better position. Nadine flushes at the idea, and tries not to think about it too hard, or else she’ll be too distracted to talk at all. “I like hearing your voice. But you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just knowing you’re there is… _ah_ …”

At the sound of her quiet moan, Nadine flounders. Six thousand miles away, Chloe Frazer is touching herself, and all Nadine can do is lie there and listen. It’s wonderful. It’s terrible. It’s a gift. It’s pure torture.

“What are you wearing?” Chloe asks in that breathy purr, and it’s nothing like the text message Nadine received a few days ago, that’d made her laugh and smile. This time, it makes her shudder, and grow even wetter.

“Same as before,” she answers stiffly, then grimaces. Should she have lied, and said she was in her underwear? _Eish_ , she has no idea how to do this.

“Those pictures you sent, that night,” Chloe begins, then cuts off with a muffled curse. All the hair on the back of Nadine’s neck stands on end at the sound.

“Ja,” she says, to try and get Chloe back on track. She knows which pictures Chloe’s talking about—the ones she’d struggled through but ultimately taken, the ones Chloe had asked for, of her flexed muscles and bare skin.

“I, _ah_ —” Chloe pauses, as if she’s thinking better of what she’s about to say, then continues, “After you sent them, I went a little crazy. I—I may have, _ah_ …”

“You what?” Nadine presses. She’s never needed to know anything more.

In a rush, Chloe gasps out, her words strangled with pleasure, “I think I came about three times—”

“ _Fokken_ hell,” Nadine whispers hoarsely. Fire courses through her veins. She squeezes her eyes shut so tightly she sees stars. She can feel herself dripping now, a warm bead of wetness sliding down her inner thigh to soak through her shorts and into the mattress beneath her.

“I wish you were here,” Chloe moans, halfway between petulant and needy. Her panting comes faster.

Eyes closed, Nadine imagines what Chloe is doing, thousands of miles away in Australia. Is she touching her breasts again, or playing gently with her nipples? No, that’s not right. A woman like Chloe would be rougher, more demanding. She’d pinch and twist and pull, and then she’d draw that hand downwards and sink it in, deep and hard—

Suddenly the urge is too much. Nadine reaches down and palms herself roughly through her shorts. She can’t feel very much through the double layer of cotton, so she presses harder, and gives out a desperate little moan in relief. She’s only partly sure Chloe doesn’t hear it. In her ear, Chloe has no such qualms, and is breathing loudly and staggeringly into the speaker.

"Shit,” Chloe grits out suddenly. “I’m—I’m not gonna last long—”

“Okay,” Nadine breathes back, hips jerking against her own hand. “That’s okay.” She rubs in wide circles, feeling the wet squish of her soaked underwear, the desperate need for friction. “Me neither.”

A choking moan erupts over the line, sharpened by surprise. “Nuh-Nadine,” Chloe whimpers. Her breathing grows frantic, until it sounds as though she’s hyperventilating.

Nadine’s other hand is clenched white-knuckle tight on her phone, the warm screen jammed awkwardly into her ear. She hisses air in through bared teeth. The front of her shorts are wet now too, and sticky. Her palm is damp. She rubs and rubs, until she’s sure Chloe can hear the squelch of it, can taste and smell her despite the vast distance between them. It almost feels as if she’s there. In her bed. Watching.

“Chloe,” she whispers, feeling her hips begin to lock, her pleasure mount. Like a sun about to burst. Her scalp prickles. Her toes start to curl.

Chloe can’t even speak anymore, her once clever catechisms disappearing, now able only to produce a high-pitched, rhythmic cry: “ _Ah—ah—ah—!_ ”

Surprisingly, it’s Nadine who finishes first, her ears filled with the sound of Chloe’s desperate panting, the frantic rustle of her body against unmade sheets. She tries to be quiet about it, swallowing her moans and gasps and holding them deep inside her chest, but something must tip Chloe off, because in the next second, she says, “China?” and then cries out so sharply over the line it makes Nadine’s ear sting. Her phone slips out of her sweaty grip and thumps onto her pillow. Nadine puts her head back and tries not to pass out, riding the rise and crest of her orgasm, then going slack in the afterglow, her hips slowly lowering back to her bed, muscles quivering. Already, the wet spot between her thighs is growing cool and uncomfortably sensitive.

It’s a while before she can find the phone and then lift it back to her ear. Her eyelids are tremendously heavy. Her head is still swimming.

“Chloe?”

“Mmm,” Chloe sighs happily, sounding half-asleep, though it’s probably only 9AM where she is. Her day is just beginning. “M’here.” She chuckles, and already, Nadine begins to feel warm again. “Thanks, china. That was a good one.”

“Ja,” says Nadine, feeling herself go stiff and nervous again.

“God, you’re adorable,” Chloe murmurs. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Nadine replies automatically, then takes a moment to truly reflect. She feels shy and a bit awkward, but not embarrassed, or shameful. She does not regret what they’ve done in the least. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” says Chloe. “…Good.” She yawns. Nadine hears a rapid smacking sound, as though Chloe is slapping herself awake, and laughs.

“What are you doing today?” she asks sleepily.

“Ah,” says Chloe, sounding only a little more alert than before. “Mum wants to go visit my aunt. Haven’t seen her in a while, so I thought I’d go with her. Have to get up soon, if I don’t want to be late.” She _tsks_. “Probably need another shower, too.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for that,” Chloe says, sounding terribly offended. “That was bloody brilliant. Anyways. Must be late over there. Get some rest. I’ll call you later, when you wake up.”

Nadine smiles into the dark of her room. She likes that idea, of having something to look forward to: a phone call from her girlfriend. “Okay.”

“ _Goeie nag_ , Nadine.”

“ _Goeie more_ , Chloe. Bye.”

They hang up. Nadine holds the phone to her chest and listens to the quiet of her apartment, the perpetual hum of traffic lingering outside her windows. She feels calm. Languid, and tired. She wipes her wet hand on the edge of her sheet and adjusts her shorts. She doesn’t like the idea of falling asleep in damp underwear, but she dislikes the idea of having to get up and change them even more.

She gets one last picture from Chloe, about a minute after they’ve hung up. It’s a selfie, a close up of Chloe’s face, like she’s about to kiss the screen. Her nose and ears are flushed dark pink. Her eyes are dazed, lids heavy. She looks spent and sweaty and a little grumpy about having to get out of bed, but undeniably happy. Her smile, without a doubt, is the best thing Nadine has ever seen.

 

—

 

“Um. So, listen,” says Chloe, when she calls a little over eight hours later, just after Nadine has finished her breakfast, and is preparing for her usual two hours of weights. “I know our vacation’s almost over, but I’ve already got some research going on a solid lead Sam sent me, and I’m headed back to my flat in London day after tomorrow—well, I guess that’s just tomorrow for you—and so happens I have a layover in Johannesburg.”

Nadine’s heart stutters in her chest. She lowers her just-emptied teacup into the sink with care, so it won’t break, and shuts off the running water. “How long of a layover?” She tries very hard not to let any anxiety bleed into her voice. She can’t quite tell if she’s excited or terrified at the idea of possibly seeing Chloe in person so soon after last night.

Chloe gives a nervous chuckle, which is only slightly comforting. “Just believe me when I say I didn’t actually do this on purpose, alright, china? I’m not, y’know, expecting anything. Just thought it might be nice to see your pretty face again.”

“How long?” Nadine presses.

Again, Chloe hesitates. “…About ten hours.”

It’s quiet.

“I don’t know if I believe you didn’t do that on purpose,” says Nadine.

Chloe bursts into laughter. She sounds more herself now, warm and smoky. Nadine eases, and the jittery feeling goes away. This is still the woman she trusts more than anyone, who’s stood and fought beside her for months now. Nothing’s changed, but something’s grown, and that’s a good thing.

“I can just wait at the airport, if you’d rather not,” says Chloe amiably. “Take a nap at my gate or something. I don’t want you to feel—”

“What time?” Nadine interrupts.

“Er.” Something clatters, and then Chloe says, “My plane’s supposed to get in around… 2PM, your time. Then it’s the red eye to London.”

Nadine does some quick math. The airport is about an hour from her place. If Chloe’s flight lands on time, they can spend almost eight full hours together. The decision isn’t much of a decision at all.

“I’ll pick you up,” she says.

“You sure?” Chloe protests. “If—”

“I want to see you, Chloe.”

“Well.” Chloe’s voice goes low and breathy. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?”

 

—

 

The next day, Nadine wakes to her alarm and completes her usual routine—a run, breakfast, and then time with her weights. By noon, she’s worked the majority of her nerves out, and drives early to the airport through clogged traffic. She finds a spot in day parking, then heads to the correct terminal and, once inside, sits down to wait. Chloe’s plane is still not due for another half-hour, and there is always a possibility of a delay.

She gets one text, about forty-five minutes later, while she’s trawling Wikipedia for odd animal facts she think her partner will like. All it says is, _I’m here_. Nadine doesn’t reply, just feels a jolt in her stomach, and a quickening in her heart. She stands and pockets her phone, and begins to scan faces at the arrivals gate.

Five minutes go by. Then ten. After fifteen, the cramped feeling in her stomach is beginning to fade when she catches sight of a bright red shirt and long black hair, and her pulse jumps. Chloe hasn’t seen her yet, though her head is on a tight swivel, a small side-bag in her hand, the other holding her phone and a crumpled ticket. Nadine hooks her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and whistles, sharp and short. Chloe’s head jerks around, eyes wide. She sees Nadine and smiles broadly, then picks her way through the crowd as Nadine waits, a small, happy grin edging onto her face.

“Hey there,” says Chloe. She looks jetlagged and her hair and clothes are mussed and rumpled from the lengthy flight, but she’s here, the real thing after almost three weeks apart, not just a picture or a witty text or a breathy voice in Nadine’s ear. The lonely pang in her chest vanishes, replaced with a golden warmth.

“Hi,” says Nadine. She’s in her combat boots and work clothes—tucked in shirt, belt, heavy trousers—and Chloe is in flats, so for once, Nadine is not the shorter one. Chloe eyes her up and down with a quirked eyebrow.

“You get bigger or something, china?”

Nadine smiles at the joke, then sees the halfway-serious look on Chloe’s face, and glances down, uncrosses her arms. She’s been eating well lately, and training hard, so probably she has lost some soft weight, and gained a bit of muscle in the past couple weeks. The break has done her some favors, and she’s glad for it. “Maybe?”

Chloe’s grin turns wolfish and hungry. “You look good.”

Nadine blushes, but doesn’t look away, like she usually would. Instead, she says firmly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Chloe blinks at her, as if taken slightly aback, and then eyes the crowd around them, and asks, “Pretty sure what I want to do to you right now won’t be allowed in public, but how about a hug?”

"Sure,” Nadine agrees, and steps forward. Chloe meets her with arms lowered, slipping them around her tapered waist, so Nadine circles Chloe’s shoulders and holds her close, pressing her cheek to the side of Chloe’s head. Chloe’s grip tightens across her ribs until Nadine is faintly short of breath. She must really have missed her. Nadine squeezes back, being careful not to hurt her, though she knows her partner is tougher than practically anyone she’s met. The hug is warm, and familiar. Chloe is a hugger, and any time they separate for a break longer than a day or two, she hugs Nadine whenever they meet back. It almost feels like normal, right now, holding each other in this airport—until Chloe shifts and settles her face into the warm crease of Nadine’s neck, making a low, pleased sound that Nadine feels more than hears. Her nose pokes Nadine’s earlobe and her mouth brushes the bottom of her jaw. Nadine fights not to jump, or moan, or tilt her head so their lips will meet. She wants to, very badly.

If they were in any other part of Africa, Nadine knows they would not get away with much else, but South Africa is known for its forward thinking, its hard-earned stance on LGBT rights. Gay marriage is legal here. Still, there are things she’s comfortable with in public, and things she is not, kissing being one of them—not that Nadine expects it. She isn’t one to presume. She will kiss Chloe when she gets permission, or is otherwise encouraged. Not before.

Reluctantly, they separate. “Your bags…?” she starts.

Chloe lifts the one in her hand. “Just this. The rest are going on the next plane. Might need to borrow a shirt or something from you later.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” replies Nadine, valiantly trying not to flush at the thought of Chloe wearing her clothes. Or not wearing any at all. “I must have something in red.”

They’re making their way to the entrance when Chloe slows.

"Show me to the loo, won’t you, china?” she asks sweetly.

Nadine glances over, at the very clearly marked sign pointing, in various languages, English being one, toward the ladies washroom. Deciding to humor her, she gamely walks her to the appropriate corridor.

Inside the washroom, it’s busy, and they have to wait for a stall. Chatter bounces off the tiled walls, ricocheting like bullets. A stall opens, and Nadine crosses her arms and picks a spot by the door to wait while Chloe does her business, and bites back a yelp when Chloe abruptly grabs her by the hand and tugs her into the stall with her. Before Nadine can try to backpedal, or see if they’re getting strange looks, the stall door _thwacks_ shut, the lock _thunks_ into place, and then Chloe is mere inches from her, smiling broadly. Smoothly, as if she’s practiced, she drops her side-bag on the dirty floor, steps her foot through the strap so it can’t be swiped, and then threads her arms around Nadine’s neck. She doesn’t speak for a long, drawn out moment, just flicks her eyes slowly across Nadine’s face, as if she’s taking everything in at her leisure, noticeably lingering on Nadine’s mouth. Nadine blushes hotly, to her intense chagrin.

“Hi there,” says Chloe, innocent as can be, like she didn’t just drag Nadine in here, like there isn’t an impatient line of people out the door, waiting for a turn at the toilet.

Nadine grunts, the sound nearly lost in the bustle of the room around them. Despite the cramped stall, the sharp smell of soap and loud flushing of toilets and hiss of faucets, having Chloe so close to her is wreaking havoc on her body. The arms around her neck are warm and only slightly heavy, in a pleasantly grounding sort of way. Chloe’s face is barely an inch from hers. Her eyelashes are long and graceful. Her eyes are a remarkable grey color, like a raincloud in summer. Nadine can feel the warmth of her breath, smell the soft must of her hair. She quickly puts her hands in her pockets, to try and quell the urge to grab at her like a teenager.

“Can I help you, Frazer?” she asks, trying for nonchalance.

"Oh, I’m sure you can,” purrs Chloe. “Sorry if I startled you, but I like to kiss my girlfriends when I see them.”

“Girlfriends?” quips Nadine. “You’ve got a lot of them, have you?”

“Actually, I’m all set with just the one.”

Her grin is insufferable. Nadine can’t get enough of it, and clearly, Chloe can tell. She leans in triumphantly, rising slightly on her tiptoes. Nadine holds her breath and closes her eyes, clenching the hands in her pockets into fists. She can’t quite believe this is happening. Their noses bump. She fights not to start on reflex.

And then they’re kissing.

For perhaps ten seconds, it’s chaste. Close-mouthed, soft. Tender, really. Nadine’s heart squeezes hard in her chest at the feel of Chloe’s soft, steady breaths puffing out against her mouth and nose, the confident but unpresumptuous press of her lips, the ticklish brush of her fine black hair against Nadine’s brow. The arms around her neck tighten as Chloe steps impossibly closer, her breasts a subtle but insistent pressure against Nadine’s own. Chloe’s pulse, a vague thud against Nadine’s sternum, is beating almost as fast and hard to match Nadine’s.

Then Chloe lifts a hand and sinks her fingers into the thick, curly hair just beneath Nadine's ponytail and grips, _hard_. Nadine chokes imperceptibly on her next breath as the kiss immediately sheds its innocence and matures into something else entirely. She parts her lips for a quick snatch of air and Chloe attacks with fervor, her tongue flicking into Nadine’s mouth like a wicked tease, her teeth sharp and bold. Nadine flinches at the sting and makes a noise of surprise, and Chloe licks an apology across the angry red mark she’s left behind.

“Sorry,” she whispers through the din around them. “I—you’re just so—ugh!” She kisses Nadine again, tasting of frustration and want, and Nadine can’t help but push away her reservations, her lingering self-consciousness, and meet her with equal ardor. Chloe groans in relief, and Nadine swallows it down, and then neither of them are holding back at all.

Chloe holds Nadine by her hair with a firm hand—is this another control thing?—and directs her head this way and that, kissing her open mouth with such passion and force Nadine has to fight a loud moan trembling up the back of her throat. She can’t stop her body from reacting, and feels herself flush again, and her nipples prick. Chloe kisses her harder, until they’re both gasping for breath, rubbing herself impatiently against Nadine’s front. Nadine’s hands emerge from her pockets and seize Chloe by the hips to try and hold her still, before Nadine loses her composure entirely, and fucks her new girlfriend in a public airport washroom.

Naturally, rather than grow irritated by the strong hands gripping her sides, Chloe gasps excitedly and starts to fight back, forcing Nadine to tighten her hold, being very careful not to actually hurt her. A desperate little whimper sounds from Chloe’s throat—does she like that? Nadine wonders. Being manhandled?—and she kisses Nadine even more furiously than before.

A few seconds later, when she pulls away with a soft, wet _smack_ , it’s like jumping into a frozen lake. Nadine is left stunned and dizzy and painfully bereft. Her mouth aches. She’s glad Chloe does not wear lipstick, as it’d probably be all over her face right now.

“There,” Chloe says, sounding very satisfied with herself. “That was nice.” Without further preamble, she untangles her fingers from Nadine’s hair, slides her arms off her shoulders, picks up her bag, and unlocks the stall door. Then, not sparing a single glance at the other occupants of the washroom—many of whom probably have a good idea of exactly what they were doing in there—she takes Nadine by the hand, and strides toward the exit. Bright red, Nadine puts her head down and hopes she doesn’t look too ravished.

Chloe had said she wanted to kiss her stupid the next time she saw her, and Nadine had replied that she wanted to her as well. Really, she should have expected this. Lips numb and tingling, Nadine can’t find it in herself to be upset.

“Can I drive?” Chloe asks hopefully, once they find Nadine’s car in the lot.

“Not unless you want to take three of those ten hours getting there. Johannesburg is a bit different from a jungle.”

“Forget that, then,” Chloe winks. “I’ve got plans.”

As Nadine drives, Chloe behaves for once, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened recently. The only visible sign of their washroom tryst on her are lips that are just a bit fuller than they were before, and a knowing gleam in her eye. Nadine focuses on traffic while Chloe talks of random things, whipping out her cellphone to take pictures of interesting buildings and the odd monument. When Nadine offers to stop somewhere so they can get something to eat, Chloe replies, “Had a bite on the plane. Didn’t want to spoil my appetite,” and then grins wickedly at Nadine, who swerves to avoid a car cutting rudely into her lane.

 _I’ve seen her naked_ , Nadine thinks, as she navigates through the crowded city streets. _I’ve listened to her touch herself. And she listened to me, too._ She squirms in her seat and cannot stop a wave of heat erupting in her stomach and spreading down her limbs. Her shirt is already damp with sweat. Chloe doesn’t notice—or, if she does, thankfully chooses not to comment.

“Cute place,” Chloe remarks, once they’ve reached Nadine’s apartment, the door clapping shut after them. Before Nadine’s even turned around from relocking the deadbolt, Chloe is already snooping in closed doors and pulling out random drawers. Nadine tosses her keys onto the counter and watches as she explores the rooms like an excited new pet, following at a distance so she can answer any questions Chloe may have. Chloe marvels at how clean and organized everything is, calls her living room, with its half-size couch and clutter-free coffee table _adorable_ , and grins at the rack of weights in the back where she lifts.

“Feel like showing off for me, china?”

“Not really,” says Nadine, not to be baited. She’s still sore from the other day.

“Good thing I’ve got another nine hours to convince you, then.” Chloe’s exploration ends, predictably, at Nadine’s bedroom, where Nadine has very pointedly made her bed and tidied up, and left the lights switched off, so Chloe won’t think she has expectations, but would be open to suggestion. There is a small, framed photo of her mother and father on her desk, and Chloe picks it up with a fond smile. “Shame. If I was staying longer, we could go visit her, and I really could thank her in person.”

“Ja,” says Nadine, who, despite wanting the two most important people in her life to meet, can’t find it in herself to feel particularly guilty about getting Chloe all to herself for a while longer.

Chloe drops her bag to the floor with a small sigh of fatigue and casually sits on the side of Nadine’s bed. To Nadine, the sight of her there is jarring, but not in a bad way, more of a, _I-can’t-believe-this-is-actually-happening_ way. Chloe stretches, her shirt riding up to bare a slice of brown skin at her stomach, then tosses her phone onto the bed beside her while hiding a quick yawn behind her hand.

“You must be tired,” Nadine notes. Most likely, Chloe stayed awake during her flight to better acclimate to South Africa’s earlier timezone. “You can take one of those naps of yours, if you like.”

Chloe rubs her face briskly and seems to perk up a bit, giving her a crooked smile. “You finally have me in your bedroom and that’s what you want to do? Sleep?”

Nadine looks away. “No. Just… Didn’t want to assume.”

Chloe laughs lightly. “Assume away.” She pauses, makes a face. “Actually, I really do need the ladies room now.” Nadine points her back down the hall, and Chloe departs with an airy, “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Nadine harrumphs, feeling terribly nervous again but trying her best not to let it show too much. She hears a door close down the hall and sits on her bed where Chloe just was to wait, interlacing her fingers and squeezing at her own knuckles.

A sharp chirp brings her head up. Chloe’s cellphone is signaling a text. Nadine can’t help but glance over at it when the screen lights up. She catches a name atop a short text message—Elena Drake, Nathan Drake’s wife, who Nadine has heard of many times but never met. She understands Chloe and her are good friends.

 _Good luck_ , says the text.

Nadine stares at the two, tiny words. Luck. Right. She’ll probably need some of that soon.

About thirty seconds later, Chloe’s phone dings again, in automatic reminder for the delivered text. Nadine reaches over and taps the screen so the phone will stop dinging, and the text fades to display Chloe’s default background photo, which makes Nadine falter.

It’s a picture of her. She recognizes it at once—it was taken about two months ago, back when she’d visited Australia for the first time. She has the same picture on her own phone somewhere.

Snooping on the internet, Chloe had found a lead to some stolen aboriginal artifacts in eastern Australia. They’d leapt on the job, stolen the artifacts back, and collected a finder’s fee from a reputed museum known for their generous donations to Australia’s indigenous population. Afterwards, Chloe had suggested visiting her mother, who lived “only”—Chloe’s words—five hours away.

Along the way, they’d spotted a dead adult kangaroo by the road. It’d been hit by a car. Nadine had asked Chloe to stop, and gotten out to check and see if the roo was female, and make sure it had an empty pouch. She’d seen a documentary about kangaroos hit by cars with joeys in their pouches, how the babies who survived would die in a matter of hours unless otherwise rescued, and wanted to satisfy her own consciousness.

So, when she’d peeled the roo’s pouch open, grimacing at the blood and waving off a buzzing cloud of flies, she’d been neither surprised nor entirely prepared for the sight of a tiny animal staring back at her. The joey was, miraculously, still alive. It wasn’t just born, thankfully, and was on the bigger side, complete with a full coat of fur, but it was still very thin, and shaking with fear, its sides fluttering as it gasped for breath.

She’d operated under pure instinct after that, waving for Chloe to join her before unbuttoning her sweat-stained safari shirt halfway, then gently pulled the joey from its mother’s pouch—the poor little thing kicked frantically at her a few times, terrified, scoring a deep scratch into her left cheek, then went limp, exhausted by the effort. With extreme care, she tucked the joey into the new makeshift pouch her shirt made, and buttoned herself back up to keep it warm. Cradling an arm under the little lump, she’d asked Chloe to call her mother’s friend, who she knew from past conversations ran a refuge for wild animals.

Without complaint, Chloe had driven them an extra two hours out of the way to hand the joey over to a very concerned but competent handler. As they drove through the night, they stopped at an all-hours grocery store for goat’s milk. Joeys were lactose intolerant, Nadine had remembered reading, and while goat’s milk was a poor replacement for a mother roo’s milk, it would do in a pinch. They wet a clean cloth in some of the milk, and fed the scared little joey drops until it gained a bit of strength.

The picture on Chloe’s cellphone background was the single one they’d snapped of the joey, on the same night they’d found him. Once they’d arrived, the handler had determined the joey was male, then prepared a proper bottle for an orphan kangaroo, and allowed Nadine to feed him one last time. Chloe had managed to get a picture of the two of them; the bright-eyed joey cuddled close to Nadine’s chest as she held the bottle to his mouth, her face soft and maybe a little awestruck, smitten by the tiny thing in her arms, the red score of the scratch on her cheek standing out brightly against the brown of her skin.

Before they left, the handler let them name the joey. They’d named him Joe.

The cell screen fades back to black, leaving Nadine sitting on her bed with her hands in her lap, and the realization that Chloe’s phone background, which she must look at multiple times a day, is a picture of her, and tries not to melt, but ultimately fails, and feels herself falling just a little bit more in love with her.

Just then, Chloe returns, wiping damp hands on her jeans, leaving dark spots streaked across the denim. She’s washed her face and made an attempt of getting her hair back in order, though the heat of the apartment is surely no help, long, dark strands already sticking to her neck again. Her sweaty collarbone is enough to make Nadine’s pulse surge. She stands, quickly, so it won’t seem like she expects Chloe to join her on the bed.

“You got a text. From Elena.”

Chloe grins happily. “Yeah? She’s pregnant, you know. Something like two months along now. Nate’s batty.”

Nadine grunts. The last thing she wants to talk about with Chloe, while they’re standing in her bedroom, is a Drake.

“So,” Chloe drawls, as if she’s read her mind, stepping slowly closer. “Tell me. When’s the last time you had a pretty girl in here?” She pauses, considering. “Or a bloke, I guess. Whatever gets your goat. Unless it’s a goat. I have a line.”

Nadine chuckles. Honestly, it’s been a while. Something like over a year, and even before then, it wasn’t terribly often, as she disliked one-night-stands. When her father was alive, she’d avoided dating for the most part. He’d never commented about her relationships or her girlfriends, but she could tell he disapproved of most of them, though she'd never asked if it was because she preferred women, or because he thought it’d distract her from work, from Shoreline.

“I have a pretty girl here now,” she says. “Isn’t that what matters?”

“Good one, china.” Chloe ducks up for a kiss, and Nadine stiffens on reflex. Chloe stops, waits.

“Um. Anything I should know?” Nadine asks, open to any kind of direction. “Rules, or whatever?”

“Just one.” Chloe grins. She looks like she’s ready to throw Nadine down on the bed and eat her alive. “I’m on top.”

And then Chloe grabs her face and pulls her down, kissing her like she did in the airport bathroom. Nadine does her best to keep up, but it’s difficult not to sway on her feet. She imagines what kissing Chloe will be like while they’re laying down, and feels faint.

“I have a surprise for you,” says Chloe, breaking away with flushed lips, and then takes a small step back, and pulls her shirt off over her head.

Nadine has to clamp her teeth together to stop her jaw from physically dropping. Chloe is wearing the black, half-cup bra from the picture she sent the night of the party. She swallows down an involuntary whimper as Chloe unbuttons and then shimmies out of her tight jeans to bare the matching bottoms. There are more scars on Chloe’s body than there were in the picture, and her hips and breasts are slightly fuller, but the effect is still staggering. No, even more so, because she didn’t know the Chloe in the picture, and this is her Chloe, standing before her now.

Whatever expression Nadine’s managed to form her face into must please Chloe, and she smirks at her in a primal, wolfish way, and stalks closer. Nadine can’t help going tense, can’t help sucking in a sharp breath at the way Chloe’s body moves, how the tiny scraps of cloth and satin cling to her and dig into soft flesh. Nadine wants to touch her so badly it hurts.

Chloe stops when they are toe to toe. Barefoot, Nadine still booted, Chloe is now two inches shorter than her. The effect does not go unnoticed by either of them. Nadine finds it odd to have to look down at Chloe’s face, while Chloe appears amused, her neck cricked back. She rises on the balls of her feet to meet Nadine’s mouth with hers, kissing her gently at first, then harder. Nadine’s eyes flutter shut.

With one hand on her chest, Chloe walks her backward as they kiss. The edge of the bed hits the back of her knees, and then Chloe gives her a shove. Nadine hits the mattress sitting up, bouncing lightly, arms sprawled to keep herself mostly upright. Physically, she is probably almost twice as strong as Chloe is, but can do nothing to resist her as Chloe gives her another wicked grin, then braces a hand on Nadine’s shoulder and swings a leg up to straddle her clothed thighs, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Nadine’s narrow hips.

Nadine takes in a breath and holds it. There is now a very warm, very half-naked Chloe Frazer in her lap. She keeps her hands determinedly on the bed, worried of overstepping her bounds, of touching something she shouldn’t without asking. Chloe has no such reservations, and seizes Nadine again by the thick, curly hair at the back of her head, kissing her slow and deep with increasing intensity. Her tongue alternates between quick, teasing flickers and long, slow licks all over the inside of her mouth. Nadine finds it difficult to find time to rasp in a quick breath when they separate, and swoons, feeling dizzy. The temperature in the already stuffy room soars.

Gently, but with palpable impatience, Chloe takes her by the wrists, and lifts Nadine’s limp hands to stroke at her bare sides. Her skin is soft, surprisingly hot, and the slightest bit tacky with sweat. Nadine’s hands clench, mapping the curve of Chloe’s ribs, the warm give of her stomach, and migrates upward, until she’s cupping the sides of Chloe’s breasts. Chloe moans encouragingly, her hands returning to Nadine’s hair, holding her in place to kiss. Nadine traces the bottom edge of the lingerie with her thumbs. When she reaches the tiny bow at the middle, she goes back, a little harder this time. Chloe trembles and lets out a muffled curse into Nadine’s mouth, and then pulls away to bite ineffectually at her ear.

“Don’t have to be so gentle,” she growls. Nadine finds she likes the note of frustration in her voice.

With Chloe busy by her ear, Nadine slides her forefingers into the top edge of the bra and pushes the cups down, exposing Chloe’s breasts to the room. Her nipples are hard and straining, flushed a deeper pink than they were in any of the pictures. She brushes one with a callused fingertip, and Chloe squirms in her lap, crying out softly. Nadine leans in, nuzzling Chloe’s sternum. She licks at the sweat gathering there, then shifts over to a firm nipple and licks that, too. The feel of the stiff nub pushing back against her tongue is addictive. Chloe arches in her lap, thrusting her chest emphatically toward Nadine’s mouth. Nadine palms a nipple and kisses the other, switching between them as Chloe sinks her fingers deeper into her hair and directs her from one breast to the other, until both are wet and straining and tender.

Growing bold, or maybe just daring, Nadine cups Chloe through her underwear with her free hand, and feels her radiating warmth beneath, her softness. She rubs, gently, and Chloe digs her nails into the back of her neck, and into the meat of Nadine’s right shoulder, and groans aloud, right in Nadine’s ear, raising goosebumps all down the way down her back. Jesus.

She rubs harder, until she can feel the thin cloth growing hot and damp and slippery. Chloe squeals with every pass of her fingers, snapping her hips forward and back, as if already on the cusp of orgasm, although Nadine has only been touching her for less than a minute. Nadine slows her hand, trying to savor it, and Chloe digs her nails in again, harder. Nadine can’t help a flinch when one pinches so hard she’s sure it’s drawn blood.

“ _Nonononono_ —” Chloe gasps, her face pressed near Nadine’s temple, her quick breaths fluttering against Nadine’s cheek.

“We have eight hours,” Nadine points out, giving her an excruciatingly slow stroke, all the way from the top of her mound to the sopping back.

Chloe makes a desperate little choking sound and then whimpers out, “I’ve been waiting for this for—” She abruptly claps her mouth shut and sits up stiffly, as if realizing what exactly she’s about to say, and goes pink from her neck to her nose. “Nevermind.”

“For what?” Nadine prompts, feeling as though, for the first time in this encounter, she has the upper hand. She rubs just a bit more firmly. Her fingertips are wet now, the material of the underwear gone dark and sticky.

“For…” Chloe starts breathily, her eyelids drooping, hips rocking in concert with Nadine’s strokes, “For longer than I care to think about—oh, don’t _stop_ ,” she snarls, when Nadine pauses.

“How long is that?”

Chloe bites her lip, squirming in place. “I mean, if we’re being honest here, probably since the day I met you.”

“What?” Nadine stops entirely, leans back. “Are you serious?”

“Sorry, have you never met you?”

“But we were arseholes to each other, back then.”

“Look, can we talk about this some other time?” Chloe begs, sounding vaguely frantic, her eyes squeezed shut and her face scrunched adorably.

Nadine waits a moment longer, just to make Chloe whine, and then returns her hand to motion. Chloe gasps in relief, lowering her brow to Nadine’s shoulder, where she buries her mouth in the crook of her neck.

The underwear, Nadine notes, is beyond ruined. Completely soaked through. Though she’s fond of them, they’re in her way. A part of her wants to tear them off, just to see what kind of noise Chloe will make, but another, larger part wants to keep them, to remember this. The stronger urge wins, and slowly, with great care, she abandons Chloe’s heaving breasts to look down and watch as she slides her fingers past the strings on the sides and gently removes the pair of underwear, seeing the way they cling and then pull reluctantly away from Chloe’s wetness.

Beneath, Chloe is a mess, her pubic hair soaked almost flat, her inner lips swollen and bright red. Nadine slips a lone finger through the slick to find her clit. Chloe jerks and gasps when she bumps over it, a hard little nub throbbing quick as a hummingbird under the pad of Nadine’s forefinger. She runs her fingertip up and around it, then adds another finger to swirl through her folds, and Chloe starts to shake. The smell of her is heady and thick. Nadine breathes in deeply, and watches, transfixed, as her hand moves through the mess, and listens to the barely audible squelch of her wetness. She bites her lip against a sudden, brutal urge to push Chloe down and thrust her face into the source of the slick. But that would be breaking rule number one, and—

An idea dawns. To accomplish it, she’ll first need to move Chloe. While she could stop what she’s doing and wait until her partner is lucid enough to help, it’d be easier to just move her herself. Something tells her Chloe will like it, besides, so without comment she slides both palms under Chloe’s thighs, flexes, and then lifts the woman off her lap, and holds her there, without much effort. The rattling moan she receives is well worth it. Making sure she won’t drop her, she starts to simultaneously lean herself back and shimmy downward, and move Chloe further up. Chloe digs her knees into the bed to stop them with an adorably frazzled look of confusion.

“Wuh…?”

“I want you to sit on my face,” Nadine replies.

“ _Christ_ ,” Chloe breathes out. Her eyelids flutter. “Um. Alright.”

“Problem?” Nadine tries not to grin at seeing her usually droll partner so flustered. “You’re still on top, aren’t you?”

“Yup. On top. Of your face. Jesus. Okay, here.”

Chloe walks up the bed on her knees until she’s positioned just above Nadine’s face. The delicate muscles along the inside of her thighs are trembling already. Nadine doesn’t have a headboard to grab, so Chloe just leans forward against the wall, pressing her forehead to the wood with an expression bordering on trepidation.

“Let me know if I’m suffocating you,” she says, getting out one last joke. “Slap my arse or something.”

“Or something,” Nadine agrees. She lays a hand on Chloe’s hip and guides her down.

This is Nadine’s favorite position. The way she’s lying, with Chloe crouched atop her head, knees at her ears, makes it difficult to hear or see anything, allowing her to focus solely on the task at hand. All she can smell and feel and taste is Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. She licks a firm stripe over the warm, inner crease of Chloe’s thigh, then the other, then starts to work licking through her soaked pubic hair to search for her entrance. When she finds it, she crooks a hand up, and holds Chloe open with her fingers, so she can better taste her. The musk of her is overpowering and heady. Nadine’s chin is wet. So is her nose. She licks and sucks at her opening, then teases her with the tips of her fingers. Her mouth, she moves back up, to find her clit, and swirls her tongue relentlessly up and over it once it’s located. Above her, Chloe’s weight bears down a bit harder. She starts to buck. Nadine follows the rhythm as best she can, allowing Chloe to ride her face, a steadying hand on her hip.

After only a few minutes, Chloe can’t hold herself up anymore. Unleashing a foul string of curse words Nadine can only half-hear, her quaking thighs give out. Luckily, rather than collapse directly on top of Nadine’s face, she manages to slip backward, onto Nadine’s chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she breathes out at the end of every gasp. Sweat speckles her stomach, the tops of her legs. There is a beautiful pink flush covering her from neck to breasts. Her bra, pushed down around her waist now, has gotten tangled on one arm. Between her legs, she’s so red and wet and swollen it almost looks painful.

Nadine licks her lips and sits up a bit on her elbows. She’s relatively sure Chloe hasn’t come yet. She isn’t anywhere close to finished, either. Firmly, she cups her hands under Chloe’s spent thighs and lifts her again, like before. She lays back down and then repositions Chloe over her face and holds her there. Chloe doesn’t weigh much, and as long as she doesn’t thrash or kick too hard, Nadine is positive she won’t drop her.

There’s something wicked about going down on a woman when one of you is naked, and the other fully clothed, Nadine acknowledges. Rather than feel restrictive, her clothing gives her a sense of power. Writhing above her, moaning stutteringly, Chloe seems to like the idea as well. Within two passes of Nadine’s tongue, she’s alternatively rutting back against her for more, and jerking herself away from the overstimulation. Nadine cannot get enough. She licks and sucks and kisses until her jaw aches from Chloe’s bucking, until her arms are burning from holding her up. And still, she doesn’t stop.

The warm, sweaty thighs bracketing her ears cut off the sound of Chloe’s penultimate shriek, a moment before they clamp down and trap her in place. Nadine hopes, fleetingly, it wasn’t terribly loud. She does have neighbors to worry about, after all. Her tongue turns soft and gentle, lapping lightly at the red, abused flesh above her.

Chloe goes completely boneless in her grasp, slumping forwards so her face is buried in Nadine’s pillow and her arms flop limply against the top of Nadine’s head. Tenderly, Nadine lifts her once again and rearranges her limp legs and torso so they’re lying side by side. She untangles the bra from Chloe's arm, unclips it, and tosses it off the bed. Chloe blinks fuzzily at her with half focused eyes and gives her a big, dopey smile.

“Made a mess of you, china,” she murmurs. The way she says it, it almost sounds like a proclamation of love. Nadine very much wants to kiss her, but refrains. Some women don’t like to taste themselves after sex, and she doesn’t want to assume. If Chloe asks, she’ll go wash her mouth without protest.

But then Chloe is already on her, kissing her slow and deep. She pulls back with a thoughtful smack of her lips but looks enthused by the taste. She leans back in, licking all around Nadine’s messy mouth and then her chin and cheeks. It starts to tickle, especially when she gets near her ears, and Nadine bites down a giggle at the feeling. Chloe hears it and tries harder, so Nadine gives her a little shove, and then they’re wrestling playfully on the bed, Chloe trying her best to make Nadine laugh aloud while Nadine easily holds her back. Chloe won’t stop giggling. Nadine feels light and happy and whole.

Finally, Chloe collapses back, breathing hard. Her body gleams with sweat and smells musky and hot.

“Jesus. They’re gonna have to wheelchair me back on the plane. I can’t feel my legs." She presses a hand to her brow, and closes her eyes, murmuring, “Here I am, thinking I’ll be the one blowing your mind. Jesus. Making me look bad, china.”

Next to her, Nadine rolls onto her side and props herself up on a bent elbow so she can look down at Chloe in amusement. Chloe peeks an eye open and grins at her, then reaches up to cup her face in her hand, then shifts further back, to the elastic keeping Nadine’s hair tightly bound. “Here, let me…” With Nadine's help, they undo her ponytail, and she chuckles as Chloe scrubs a hand through her hair until her curls are flopping haphazardly this way and that.

“You know,” Chloe says quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair like this.”

Nadine opens her mouth to dispute her, then closes it. In all their travels, she’s the one who wakes first, who’s ready, showered, prepped for action, while Chloe snores away late into the morning. She’s used to being the serious partner, the professional businesswoman. She feels remorseful that something as simple as letting her hair down in front of her partner has become something she's treated almost like a weakness. She wishes she had let Chloe in sooner, had given her that intimacy between them.

She gives it now, and leans forward to kiss her gently, though it doesn’t stay gentle for long. Chloe starts to move against her more and more, grabbing at her sides, her back. Nadine shifts, so it’s easier to push into her, using her own hips to pin Chloe’s down. She pulls away from Chloe’s mouth to kiss at her sweaty neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“You’re heavy, china,” Chloe breathes out against the side of her face, sounding amused.

“Sorry,” Nadine replies on reflex, and then stiffens, realizing with a start that she’s broken Chloe’s first and only rule—Chloe has to be on top, in control. Somehow, they’ve ended up with Chloe flat on her back and Nadine stretched out directly on top of her. Chloe seems to realize their predicament at the same moment, her body going rigid for a second beneath Nadine’s.

“Shit,” Nadine says by way of apology, folding her knees and getting up on her elbows so she can roll off, but before she can do so, Chloe reaches out and grasps her by the front of her shirt, keeping her in place. Neither of them moves for a tense moment. “Chloe?” Nadine prompts, when the silence starts to bother her, glancing down. She’s practically looming over Chloe, she realizes. Not in a threatening way, but definitely in way that is dominating. Rather than appear upset or frightened by the change, Chloe remains quiet. Her eyes dart across Nadine’s taut body above her, the wild expression on her face making sweat form at the small of Nadine’s back. She looks almost… intrigued.

“Stay there,” Chloe says, without a hint of askance. This is a demand.

Nadine helplessly obeys, watching the way Chloe’s breaths start to come faster, how her thighs start to rub together.

“Kiss me,” is Chloe’s next order. Nadine leans in. She tries to be gentle, but Chloe isn't having it, and soon she’s responding in kind, growling low in her throat at the way Chloe’s body feels quivering beneath her. Keeping herself propped up with one bent elbow, she slips her other hand down, to the renewed wetness between Chloe’s legs. Chloe gasps and spreads them wantonly. She squeals when Nadine slowly penetrates her with two fingers, and then holds them there for her to grip and squeeze. She wants to take her time, to savor this.

Immediately, however, Chloe starts to twist and buck, as though she’s in a race that she's trying to finish as quickly as possible. Nadine kisses her, trying to calm her down, not ready for this to end so fast. When that doesn’t work, she braces her knees a little wider on the bed and pins Chloe with a little extra weight, halting her frantic movements.

“Chloe,” she says, with a bare edge of warning. She hooks her fingers and digs them into Chloe’s front wall. She’s strong, and with every tug, Chloe’s entire body jolts. Nadine feels hypnotized by the sway of her breasts, the arch of her back.

Chloe is still not listening. Her hands flail, seeking purchase, and blunt nails rip burning scores down Nadine’s hard, flexing back, even through the material of her shirt. The pain is distracting, and she stops for a moment to regain her bearings. Chloe scrabbles at her, expression so needy it’s almost pained. She grabs at Nadine’s wrist, at the hand crooking fingers inside her, trying to make her move. Quick as a flash, Nadine snatches both her wrists in her free hand and then holds them above Chloe’s head, pushed hard into the mattress.

“ _Sny dit uit_ ,” she says in Afrikaans. _Cut it out_.

Chloe doesn’t know that one, but makes a strangled sound anyways, not from being outraged, Nadine realizes, but from the fact that Nadine’s forced her to stop at all, and is now holding her entirely still with her hips and one hand. She thinks of the moment in the washroom, how she'd seized Chloe's hips and forced her to stop, how she'd seemed to like it. She squeezes experimentally at Chloe’s wrists, until she’s sure her grip must begin to hurt, and feels Chloe's inner walls spasm against her fingers.

“Fuck!” Chloe hisses. She’s closed her eyes and flung her head back, a bead of sweat rolling slowly down her neck. Nadine almost lets go, growing a little worried that maybe she’s misreading this, but the second she lets off the pressure just the slightest bit, Chloe’s head snaps back up.

“Don’t!” she cries. “Don’t. Just—just keep…” She trails off, looking slightly lost. Hovering above her, Nadine leans down to kiss her again, tasting Chloe’s relief when she begins to move the fingers inside her. Chloe is so wet every time Nadine pulls out and pushes back in, she can hear it. They go quiet, so they can listen. It almost sounds like a kiss. Every few seconds, Chloe tries to struggle against Nadine’s vice-like hold, as if simply to reiterate the fact that she can’t move, and whimpers louder and louder each time she inevitably remains still. She has practically no control, now. Not anymore. She’s given it to Nadine.

Nadine is nearly overcome by a wave of affection. She leans down, and whispers in Chloe’s ear the sweetest and dirtiest things she can imagine in Afrikaans, using the foreign language as a barrier to hide behind. Though Chloe surely has no idea what she’s saying, her gasps go ragged and she begins to cry out, again and again, “ _Ah, ah, ah!_ ”

When Chloe comes, loudly, wrackingly, it feels as though to Nadine that she’s coming too, despite not being touched. Chloe is trembling all over, her walls squeezing down on Nadine’s fingers like overheated satin. Nadine continues to thrust, slower now, feeling Chloe relax around her. She's wet to her wrist. Chloe collapses like a marionette with its strings cut, gasping for air. Nadine releases her, fighting a guilty flush at the marks she’s left on Chloe’s arms, and sits back on her knees, her eyes slowly tracing the naked woman sprawled in front of her. Chloe looks wrecked. She doesn’t move, just keeps gasping, her breath gradually slowing.

Watching her, Nadine feels a small surge of pride. Her head is spinning, and she’s still fully clothed. If there is one thing she strives for in the bedroom, it is being a selfless lover. If all they do here today, in the remaining seven or so hours they have together, is bring Chloe to orgasm, again and again, she will be entirely satisfied. Whether Nadine comes or not is no matter.

And then Chloe sits up, looking equal parts lovestruck and furious. A hand darts out and sneaks its way under the front of Nadine’s shirt, fingers splaying across her muscled abdomen.

“Off,” Chloe practically snarls. She looks drunk. “Off!”

Nadine hesitantly obeys and drags the shirt off over her head, leaving herself in a plain black sports bra. When she looks up, Chloe is watching her with an arrested look on her face. She flexes unconsciously, and Chloe’s face and neck go dark red.

“Take that off, too,” she snaps, motioning to the bra. Again, Nadine obeys without protest. Just as she’s worked it free, being careful not to snag her hair in the elastic band, a warm tongue laps across her flat stomach, and she gasps on reflex, torso clenching at the quick, wet strokes. Kneeling in front of her, Chloe sighs in delight and digs her teeth into her trembling muscles playfully. Nadine feels a harsh tug as Chloe reaches between them and starts to work on unbuckling her belt. She shudders and lets her—there is nothing quite like having a beautiful woman undress you, after all. With a parting lick, Chloe abandons her stomach to kiss her hard on the mouth, fingers working with alacrity. Soon enough, the belt in free and goes sailing off the side of the bed to thump on her floor. The quiet of the room, punctuated only by their quick breathing and the hushed, wet sound of their kissing, fills with the growl of a zipper being lowered.

“Wait,” Nadine says, realizing her boots are still on, and can’t help a smile when Chloe actually whines in frustration and starts yanking. “ _Wait_.” She pulls away from her and sits on the side of the bed so she can undo her laces. Chloe, ever the distraction, plasters herself to her back and bites at her ear. Nadine makes quick work of the knots and laces and tosses her boots off as fast as possible before losing her socks as well, then stands so she can push her pants down the rest of the way, her underwear going with them. Naked, she turns back to the bed, and Chloe.

“God,” Chloe croaks. Nadine buries every ounce of self-consciousness she’s ever had, and does not try to cover herself as Chloe looks her fill. “Never thought I’d say this, but please get back on top of me. Right now.”

Nadine fights a grin, and takes her time getting back into position. By the time she’s looming over Chloe again, her partner looks like she’s about to faint. She flexes, hard, just because she can, muscles bunching and quivering, and Chloe’s face goes bright red.

“Have you ever heard of someone achieving orgasm simply from visual stimulation? Because I think it’s about to happen.”

Nadine chuckles low in her throat, and cuts off in a gasp when Chloe unerringly reaches out and touches her directly on the mound, right above her clit. Ignored for so long, her clit feel twice its usual size, pounding away in tune with her racing heart. Nadine realizes she’s wet enough to drip down her inner thighs, and buries the reflex to clamp her legs shut. She holds them open as Chloe playfully teases her sticky outer labia with her fingertips, a smug look on her face.

“How do you say pussy in Afrikaans?” she asks in a husk, and Nadine feels her ears burn.

“ _Poes_ ,” she practically whispers.

Chloe licks her lips. Her fingers attack, and Nadine stutters out a moan and hangs her head as one slips inside of her, the intrusion sudden but very, very welcome. In her ear, Chloe whispers, “I’m going to eat your _poes_ until you can’t walk straight.”

Things get blurry for a bit. The next thing Nadine knows, she’s sitting on the side of the bed with Chloe kneeling in front of her, her palms pushing open her quavering thighs. Between her legs, she’s gone a dark, deep red, her swollen folds eagerly spread already, without even a touch. Chloe’s eyes darken, her smirk turning feral. She leans in, and Nadine is lost.

The entire time she licks and sucks at her, gleefully being as noisy and messy as she can, Chloe is looking at her, her eyes hooded and filled with challenge, as if daring Nadine to stare back. Nadine tries, gripping the side of her mattress so hard it creaks, trying not to buck her hips and ride Chloe’s face like she’d ridden hers earlier, but it’s supremely difficult to concentrate. Chloe kisses her _poes_ like she kissed her face—deeply, with a sloppy, hungry fervor. After less than a minute, Nadine has to look away. If she doesn’t, this will be over with much too fast.

She hears— _feels_ —Chloe chuckle against her, and shivers. Her spine is arching, pushing herself closer to Chloe’s eager mouth. She tries to close her eyes, but then the wet sounds emanating from below become twice as loud, and she breaks out into goosebumps. One of Chloe’s hands comes up to palm at her breast. Nadine moans at a higher volume than she’d meant, and flushes, while below, Chloe gives a returning groan, and licks harder, sloppier. She risks a glance downwards. Chloe is still looking up at her, her mouth buried in the red and pink between her thighs, tongue visibly working. Their eyes meet, Nadine feels a thrill, and then suddenly her orgasm snaps through her, jolting her hips like mad, making her throw her head back and shout.

She collapses backwards, the sheets at once sticking to her sweaty skin. Chloe licks at her one, two, three more times, then kisses her messily on the thigh. The mattress squeaks as she rejoins Nadine on the bed.

“There. Now I feel a little better about myself.”

Nadine laughs weakly. She reaches out blindly, and catches Chloe by the back of the neck, dragging her down for a musky kiss filled with satisfaction and laziness. Her body feels heavy and sluggish. She couldn’t move if someone had a gun to her head.

But then Chloe captures the hand on her nape, and directs it downward, where she’s hot and wet once more. Nadine almost can’t believe it hasn’t grown too tender to touch by now.

“You sure?” she asks. She doesn’t want to hurt her.

“Remember what I said, back in India,” says Chloe, and winks. “About things always coming in threes? That includes me, love.”

 

—

           

“You know what sounds good right now?” Chloe says, several hours later, when they have both collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, the room around them smelling powerfully of sweat and sex. “A nap.”

Nadine, who already knows she doesn’t care for naps, can’t find the energy within herself to argue. With supreme effort, she lifts her head to spy her alarm clock—it’ll have to be a short nap, if they want to shower, find something to eat, and get Chloe back to the airport on time. “Ja,” she says wearily.

Predictably, Chloe squirms over on the bed until she’s wriggled under Nadine’s closest arm. Her body is soft and damp and uncomfortably warm in the stuffy room, but Nadine refuses to move. Rather, she curls her arm a bit tighter around Chloe, pulling her close, until they’re practically on top of each other again.

Chloe yawns. “Wake me in an hour, won’t you, china?” and then she’s out, snoring delicately in Nadine’s ear.

Nadine stays awake a bit longer. She closes her eyes, and memorizes the feeling of Chloe’s back, expanding and contracting under her arm, and the weight of her body against her side. She takes in the smell of her, the slow catch of her breathing as she sleeps. Looking back, the risks she’d taken to get here, the bursts of courage and the times of doubt, Nadine knows she’d do it all again in an instant, for this sort of reward.

As best she can, she matches the rise and fall of Chloe's sides, and soon enough, she’s dozing off as well.

           

—

 

“How ‘bout a picture?” says Chloe, once they’ve reached the airport and navigated to the correct terminal. She's wearing one of Nadine's old shirts, a faded but passable red, and though she isn't swimming in it, it's still endearingly oversized. The borrowed underwear, at least, fit a bit better. It’s nearing midnight, and the line for security isn’t terribly long, but Chloe will have to join it sooner rather than later if she doesn’t want to miss her flight. “To commemorate the occasion?”

Nadine blinks. It occurs to her that while she has pictures of Chloe, and Chloe must have dozens of pictures of Nadine, they have very few in which they are together. It seems a shame, but one she can rectify easily enough. “Sure.”

She expects Chloe to throw a friendly arm over her shoulder and make a funny joke so she'll laugh for the camera, or to grab her and kiss her so, when the shutter snaps, Nadine will have a frazzled, panicked expression she can tease her about later. Instead, Chloe sidles up to her and puts a gentle, yet firm arm around her waist, resting her head comfortably against Nadine’s. She holds her phone up in front of them, and smiles sweetly. In the cell screen, her expression is almost rapturous. Seeing it, Nadine smiles, too, and looks up into the camera just as Chloe snaps the picture. They check it afterwards, and Nadine goes warm with affection. Chloe looks radiant and happy and beautiful. Nadine’s own expression is tender and warm, her eyes soft. They look amazing together.

“Think I’ve found my next phone background,” Chloe remarks. “Joe’s cute and all, but I might like this one a little better.”

“Send it to me?” Nadine asks, her own phone sitting quietly in her pocket at the moment. She wants a copy, very much.

“If you need a background photo, just use the one of me in my—” The rest of her sentence is lost by Nadine pressing a playful hand to her mouth, the both of them laughing at each other. “Alright, alright,” Chloe fake-grouses, and barely a moment later, Nadine feels her phone buzz.

“I’ll text you when I land,” Chloe says, hefting her side-bag and giving Nadine a short but tight hug. “And maybe tonight, too?”

“I’ll call you,” Nadine says. They won’t be apart for long—only a few days more—when their next job kicks into high gear, and they hit the ground running.

“I know you don’t like talking on the phone, Nadine,” Chloe says, walking backwards toward security, a fond expression on her face.

“It’s fine,” Nadine says. Really, it is. She already knows what she wants to say. This time, she's sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I was young I remember seeing an episode of Steve Irwins show where they found a little orphan joey, and Steve's wife put the joey in her shirt to keep it warm while they brought it for help. couldn't help but imagine Nadine doing the exact same thing
> 
> anyways
> 
> that was alot of sex so now it feels awkward to talk down here
> 
> (but thanks for reading)


End file.
